SweetBonita

It's All Fun and Games, Until Someone's Head is Poking Out Your Uterus

2011-10-31T19:01:00.001-07:00

(writen 2009)

when someone goes into labor on tv, it's normally a big comedic performance, you know... oh, you know how it's all funny on the tv shows! and someone's all, "get the baby bag! do we have the overnight bag?!?" and the expectant mother is doing breathing exercising, waddling down the front steps. and the cabbie is waiting, and everyone's panicking, but still lighthearted. and it's cute, and endearing, and tender...

yeah. in real life? it's nothing like that. as a matter of fact, it's not funny at all when your friend is ripping the passenger side headrest of your car off, with tears in her eyes screaming, "WE JUST HAVE TO GO SOMEWHERE NOOWWWWAAAAAOOOOOWWWW AH AHHHHHHH!"

and it isn't that funny when she gets out the car and leans over your trunk , threatening to push a baby out in a parking lot in virginia.

and it's soooo not funny when her contractions are 2 minutes apart and the ambulance driver announces that we're going to a hospital, which is 25 minutes away (if you push 90mph) up 95 north.

and the TRULY "un-funny" part of all this, is how it was supposed to be a joke. cause at tina's impromptu baby shower, her and some of the girls decided, let's play a little jokey joke on bonita! they know how skeved out pregnancy makes me. it makes my list of the top 4 things that skeeve me out, including vomit, scary movies, and public speaking engagements. so imagine my face when tina starts kneeling over the ottoman, saying her back is cramping. oh we all laughed, tina included. and i told my other friend to go boil some hot water...

only when i had returned from the bathroom, the story was more, "oh bonita! we were going to play this big joke on you and tina was going to fake her labor!... but um...see, she says she's not really joking anymore. and she really is having contractions."

and i'm all, "... is this part of the joke?"

and they're all, "...no."

and then tina's laughing and joking turns into awkward faces and heavy breathing. and jey's timing them, and they are consistently 10 minutes apart. and after my minor crisis at the idea of taking her to the hospital in DC from VIRGINIA, ALONE, we decide to drop my friend's daughter off at the sitters next building over, and all take her.

only by the time we drop the baby off,in a span of 15 minutes, tina isn't really talking to us much anymore. it's more like, agonizing yelps and a lot of headrest/hand gripping and lots of WE HAVE TO GO NOW's...

and her contractions are 5 minutes apart.

so i used my critical thinking to deduce the following:

*taking tina home and having her go into labor on the couch with her twins watching = disaster.

*leaving tina here and having her deliver on our friend's couch with yours truly in the background with a pot of boiling water = disaster.

*taking her in my car and having her deliver in my car. ALONE WITH ME, IN MY CAR = the world slipping off it's axis, careening towards the sun where we all die a fiery death.

dear god, i'm a good girl right? i go to church at least once a month? i gave up fast food for Lent last year? why are you doing this to ME? i'm ill equipped to handle a woman having a baby in my car! it still has the stain on the backseat from where i spilled baked beans 3 summers ago. it's an awful unsanitary birthing center.

so i decide to call 911 and minutes later they are loading her into the ambulance with one of the girls, and the ret of us following in our cars.

i'll leave out the bit about us following an ambulance up 495 at upwards of 90 miles per hour and the semi bitch fight we got into with a particularly gay male nurse.

suffice to say, no more than 5 minutes after we got to tina's room, she had delivered an 8lb, 15ounce baby girl with big lungs and pouty lips. and we couldn't be happier.

happy birthday laila.

What you won't do for Love...

2011-10-27T12:42:00.000-07:00

When I made the decision to cut off my relaxed hair, I was in a relationship; a faltering, hanging on by a thread relationship, but a relationship all the same. And when I told my dude, what I was thinking, he didn’t give a strong reaction of disdain. But he also didn’t give an indifferent shrug that would have appeased my sense of trepidation. And he most CERTAINLY did not express excitement or agreement with my decision. What he DID do, was ask all sorts of questions with a slightly quizzical brow like,
“…So what does that mean?” And, “Aren’t you already natural because you don’t wear weaves? So you mean like, no perm type…afro type ‘natural’?”

And after I calmly and rationally answered all his questions, he said, “… I mean, it’s your hair. It’s not like I’m going to say I don’t want to date you anymore because you stopped getting perms…That would be kind of shallow.”

But my dude, was a smart man. He knew better than to form his lips to say that he would not want to date me with natural hair. Even if he thought it, he wouldn’t say it. Not with me behind the wheel and him in the passenger seat of my car least ways... But I can’t say that his lukewarm reaction did not have my decision making skills in a tizzy. We were already barely hanging on, if you remember, and I didn’t want to add one-more-thing to the growing list of things pointing to an immanent break up. For all intents and purposes, I loved that man. And as much as I would have stood defiant in my stance on my hair, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried that his attraction to me would wane after such a drastic change. I have to admit that I AM one of those people who care what other people think of them, specifically my significant other.

As fate would have it, we broke up before I did my big chop; a week before my big chop to be exact. And that break up helped me get over teetering on that “to big chip, or not to big chop” fence. And immediately after my at-home, bathroom BC, I was in love with the mini curls sprouting from my closely sheared head. (NOTE: the panic, confusion, and stress came a little later in my journey, but that’s a different story, for a different day…) I saw my former lover, not long after I big chopped, as we still had pretty close contact, even after our break up, and he made some offhand remark about me trying to be African. Maybe he didn’t say it that way. It was over two years ago so I can barely remember what exactly he said, but it definitely included the word Africa somewhere in there. And I thought to myself, one: what does that mean, and two: I’m not trying to be anything besides what I am, which yes, includes characteristics distinctly African…. AND!?!

He made some other smart-alecky remark about my hair to his brother, and I let it roll of my shoulders…well, I sort of let it roll off my shoulders. On the outside I appeared coolly detached from his comments and gave him my best Kanye shrug. And to a certain extent, it didn’t matter. What did I care? He wasn’t my boyfriend. He didn’t have to like my hair, as far as I was concerned. But deep down, there was a part of me that wanted him to like it; a part of me that wanted him to be as excited as I was to see the texture of my God given coils, and roll his hands over my slightly above average sized head. But that’s not what I got. I got “jokes” about ethnicity issues and then he pretty much ignored my new hair for the rest of the visit.

The comment, however “innocent” he intended it to be, was in bad taste. But a funny thing happened then. A few weeks later, as we were on my couch in one of our many on-again phases, I felt him rolling his fingers over my coils, pulling each one taught, and letting it spring back to my head. He did this, without taking his eyes off of the television, almost unconscious like. And later, that evening, as we lie in bed, me reading aloud from the book, "Stuff White People Like: A Definitive Guide to the Unique Taste of Millions", which is completely awesome and spot on, he did it again. Never commenting on my hair; just playing in it. And I thought to myself, “Yeah…you LOVE my distinctly African hair, don’t you…”

We’ve ended up back and forth, off and on since then. And I can only really recall the topic of my hair coming up one time since. He was looking at an ID badge of mine, from when I had blond streaked, relaxed hair and he said, “I like your hair like this…like how it is in this photo.” To which I replied, “So you’d like it if I got a perm?” And he turns to me and says, “Huh? No! I wouldn’t want you to change your hair because…that would…go against what you believe in now?” Just like that; opened ended question mark on the end of his sentence and all… Bless his heart. He was doing his best not to offend me. At the end of the day, as much as he may love me as a person, he prefers my relaxed hair. And that’s okay. I prefer men with full beards who are over 6 feet tall. He doesn’t meet that criteria, but it was never a requirement for our continued relationship status that he meet it either.

But I had to wonder, if me and this man were more serious than boyfriend and girlfriend, and he expressed a specific disdain for how I wore my hair, and actually put an ultimatum in the air in regards to it, would I change it? Because as much as my feelings would be hurt, at my core, I WANT my mate to like how I look. Who wouldn’t? But how much of me, will have to be to your liking, before I can feel comfortable that you won’t leave me for appearances sake? And does that even make sense? What if everything about my appearance has been changed or modified, and now you want me to be bubblier? Or more reserved? Or more aggressive? Or a geisha in the sack? Where do you draw the line on changing things about yourself in the name of compromise? And what is the difference between compromise in a relationship, and doing something above and beyond what I’m comfortable with, for the sake of not losing something sacred to me? And is it as sacred to you if you would be willing to lose me from your life forever, over a technicality? I wrote this because the post on We will not lose our love, our marriage, OVER HAIR over at Curly Nikki, struck a chord with me. It easy for the reader to say what they would have done, had they been her. But I must remember that when it was me, faced with a decision of “to change or not to change” due to my partners preferences, that I grappled with my decision. I didn’t neck roll or finger wag my way into a defiant, STRONG BLACK WOMAN, stereotypical response. I really sat and thought about it. And the answer was not clear cut. I only got the courage to do what I wanted to do AFTER he was out of the picture. I’m not sure what I would have done, had we not broken up. I’d like to say that I would have done what I felt was best for me. And I’d like to think that he would be supportive of it, and try his best to get past his feelings about my hair. But I don’t know what would have happened, because that’s not how my back-to-nap story played out.

I’m 2 years and 3 months in, and I still struggle with whether or not I am completely happy with what sprouts from my head some days. But it’s what I have, and ultimately, right now, it’s what I want. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. And the dude? He’s still around…off and on. And guess what: he still plays with my fro.

sometimes, it pays to have a one night stand.

2011-10-05T06:09:00.000-07:00

So as I’m watching Prime Suspect on DVR last night and the guy who was previously a pedophile had an alibi, the thought occurred to me that I am almost always in the house, alone. Sure I have company some evenings, or go out other evenings. But these days, very rarely am I with one person, all through the entire night. So if I ever needed an alibi, what would I say?

I was in the house baking muffins, watching Prime Suspect?

I was googling videos of Jared Allen?

I was adding more glitter to my inspiration board (that I have not started by the way)?

I mean, for real, I lead a quiet life most days and nights. And to say I was more of a loner would not be stretching it. But that is so not helping my cause.

If I’m ever a person of interest that needs an alibi, I’m going to jail like a muther…

If you would like to know who I am at my core, this will explain it all…

2011-09-03T05:55:00.000-07:00

This morning, when I went to brush my teeth, I noticed that I was using the last little bit of toothpaste from the…toothpaste holder, jar, thingy…or “toothpaste” as is more accurate. I also noticed that the deodorant had popped from the tube because I was at the end of that as well. So I thought,
“Don’t forget, you need to buy toothpaste and deodorant from the store today. DON’T FORGET!”

I even wrote myself a note.

I even sent an email to my blackberry with the subject “toothpaste and deodorant”.

And when I came out of the drugstore an hour ago? My bag contained powdered donuts, a kabuki makeup brush for the makeup that I don’t wear, a Lipton iced tea, and salt water taffies.

And I got back to my desk thinking,

“wasn’t I supposed to get something…else?”

And that story pretty much sums up the type of person I am.

easily distracted by colorful objects and food.

Oh Baby!

2011-09-01T06:09:00.000-07:00

So my dermatologist just scared the bejesus out of me. I came in for my yearly check up and to re-up on my prescription meds for my adult acne; the old middle finger from the universe. Who every thought I’d have clear, baby smooth skin at 12, and the skin of a hormonal 12-year-old at 31?

At any rate, she looks over my skin and marvels at how clear it is (note: It’s not really that clear... It’s just very clear for someone who needs prescription meds i guess). Then suddenly, as she looks at my two prescriptions, the room goes dark, distant winds start to blow, and as an ominous glow lights her face from below she says,

“You absolutely CAN NOT get pregnant on this medication.”

And then the lights come back to their normal luminosity and she continues to flit away about the weather as she scribbles notes on my sheet, like nothing just happened.

So I say with some trepidation,

“Oh, I can’t?”

Doctor death: Oh heavens no! You’re on the strongest dose of tazorac there is. That is REALLY bad for pregnancies…actually, your benzefoam is bad for it too. So yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaah…... No. Are you married or do you plan on having children soon?”

Me: No?

Doctor death: Great! Then you’ll have beautiful skin for a little while longer!

Jesus, lady. What a way to put it. And I have no intentions of getting pregnant soon…at least not on purpose. I haven’t even been getting a lot of “boo-ed up action," or "fornicating in sin," as my mother likes to call it. But shit, that’s enough to scare the prude in me to stay away from penises for a good long while, since she made it seem as though getting pregnant on MY medication meant birthing a firebaby.

Le sigh*... Choices.

Winners and Losers: Earthquake Edition!

2011-08-23T15:57:00.000-07:00

Photo Credit: http://www.businessinsider.com/earthquake-tweets-2011-8

The following individuals were/are officially "screwed" after the 5.8 earthquake in the DC metro area:

1. People who catch commuter buses to far out suburbs; your bus isn't coming.
2. People in slug lines headed toward southern Virginia, aka the epicenter
3. The lady who thought i was going to come fix her cable tv at work and sent a nasty e-mailing complaining about it; one, i had mentally checked out before you hit send on that message and two, kill yourself.
4. Anyone planning a Nick Ashford tribute concert tonight.
5. People with no emergency sneakers at work.
6. Anyone in a taxi cab right now.

People Currently "Winning" after the 5.8 quake:
1. DC food cart vendors.
2. People who like to exercise; you get to walk home today.
3. End of Days Enthusiast.
4. That's it.

you suck, blogger!

2011-08-19T12:16:00.000-07:00

blogger won't let me comment on anyone else's blogs. and now, it won't even let me comment on my own blog! and my blogger has been messed up like this for AWHILE now. the message boards say they are fixing it, but that was back in like june. it's bumming me out! might be time to move blogs...

beautiful people

2011-08-19T05:27:00.001-07:00

http://bon-bon.tumblr.com/post/8642956778 posted: do you ever look at photos of really pretty girls and just think like…. what is it even like walking around looking like that? or looking in the mirror and seeing that face? idk, i wonder about this stuff.

http://isleofjoy.tumblr.com/post/8661074939 ... I completely feel that way. Every day when I see girls who are beautiful and well dressed with nice bodies, I can’t help but wonder what it feels like to go through life like that. I don’t mean this in a self-pitying “I’m so ugly” way, I know I’m okay looking. I’ve just always wanted to know how it must feel to be beautiful.

I saw the above posted on someone else’s tumblr today. I’ve thought that thought, several times in my life; what it feels like to be someone viewed as impossibly gorgeous. I wonder do they like themselves…do they look at themselves in the mirror an inordinate amount of times? Do they feel super confident when they walk down the street? Do they feel super confident when they talk to men? I often wonder what it feels like to be the “beauty standard” type of girl… I do think I’m attractive, in a quirky, off brand sort of way, but not in the way men society mean(s) when they say a woman is beautiful. I mean, I’ve got a couple good pics I float around on the internet (lol...), but I don’t think I have a face people remember when they walk down the street.

And that’s fine by me in a general scheme of life sort of way.

It ONLY bugs me when I think of it in a sort of way that makes it the reason someone’s not with me.

Maybe if I wasn’t overweight.
And also,
Maybe if my nose wasn’t so big.
and my lips were more voluptuous…
and if my jaw line was more feminine
and I had more of a cinched waist..
and didn’t wear a size 11 shoe and didn’t have man-hands
Maybe if my skin were lighter…
of if my skin were darker
Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe, forever and ever amen…

Maybe if I were stereotypically beautiful,

Everything would be different.

It’s odd to think that, at 31. I thought at 31, I’d be this super confident adult,

Or if not super confident, advanced enough in years not to care about those frivolous types of things.

But I think about them, often…more often than I’d like to admit to myself probably.

But what do I know. Maybe the stereotypically beautiful think the same thoughts I do every day. I wonder.

a note to self...

2011-08-15T16:41:00.000-07:00

I looked at <name deleted>'s page today. I don’t know why I wanted to do it. But I wanted to do it, more than I wanted anything. Even though I knew it’d make me sad. Even though I knew it’d make me think on him, probably more than I should. I still looked. I have this insatiable need to know; to know him. The real him. And it’s funny because I’ve known him since I was 13. And I’ve known him for five years. But lately, it feels like I don’t know him at all.

I need to see him…or the “him” he is presenting, so I can know in my heart, that there is no chance that it would work between me and THAT man. Now, it would work between me and the man I thought he was. But he does not seem to be the man I thought he was. He’s always been a hustler. But now I feel like he hustles for attention. I can’t tell if it’s hustling, or if that is who he is; this need to be drunk, every weekend…this need for all this social media attention…the type I DETEST and ABHORE by the way. Loathe does not do well to describe how I feel about people that need that type of attention; that type of fake connection to EVERYBODY. Hustling for hits…sam-bo-ing for so called “friends”… it disgusts me. Yet there he is, twittering stupid shit every five minutes, facebook updates… He reminds me of a child. Not at all the type of man I would want to spend five minutes alone with, let alone love.

And yet, years ago, he was not this person. Not with me. I can’t tell who he is anymore. And that bothers me the most. Did I have him all wrong? Was the man I had in my head, and the relationship I had dreamed for us, just my dream? Silly meanderings of a girl, dreaming of a life, with a man she’s made up. I don’t know. And I can’t know. Because I am not in his head. And you can never really know a person, they way one knows himself.

So I look now, at the man he appears to be, and I feel nothing but a sadness for the man I lost. I ache for the man I thought he was, but he may have never really existed. And we could do this dance we do, forever. But if he’s just being one thing for me, when he’s with me, and wishing he was being himself, somewhere else? Well I wouldn’t want that for him either. He’s welcome to be who he is, and f*ck women, and spend his money on liquor, and go to bars and clubs, and buy unessesary object to keep himself happy. If he loves what appears to be the extent of his life, who am I to judge. Though the previous statement is obviously a judgment… I just mean, if he’s happy with his life, I’m not mad at that. I’m mad that he lied to me. I’m mad that he used me in a way that he knows I did not want to be used. But I’m not mad at who he is.

I’m disappointed in it.

I'm thankful i don't have children...

2011-08-05T16:50:00.000-07:00

...because taking them to go see Spy Kids: All the Time in the World would be a fate worst than death.

Today on the internet...

2011-06-21T11:29:00.000-07:00

... i searched social media specialist (because i figure it would be a cool job),

and Sizzlers. Because you know. I liked their bread.

The New JW Approach

2011-06-14T05:40:00.000-07:00

I’m trying to figure out what is up with this new breed of Jehovah’s Witnesses that stop you when you come out of grocery stores, or from metro stations…from their cars.

On at least 4 occasions this year, I’ve had someone hand me a Watchtower from the passenger side seat of a car. Seriously Jehovah’s Witnesses? Where’s the effort? Where’s the dedication? Where’s the love? What happened to old school Jehovah’s Witnesses?

I remember when I was a child, Jehovah’s Witnesses would attack a neighborhood with Special Team Force-like precision. They would come on Saturdays, Sundays, heck even some week nights. They would be vigilant in their pursuit of your time and attention. Often traveling in packs of 4 or more, with cute children in tow to bolster their image, they would knock on your door with the swift fist of righteousness, and they would not be swayed for at least 5 minutes. I mean, you had to turn your lights out, turn the TV off, get on the floor, and be quiet. Sometimes my mom would even make us silently pray. I thought Jehovah’s Witnesses was a street gang for the first few years of my life. That is how seriously THE KNOCK was taken in my household. I mean JW’s went after you, in a severe way.

So imagine my chagrin when I get handed a Watchtower from a car window. Seriously lady? You park next to the metro and hand fliers from a car window? iCan’t.
This last time, a woman actually called out to me while I was putting my groceries in my trunk and asked me to take a Watch Tower to read, and she was two whole car rows over! She literally could not be bothered to get out of her vehicle, let alone knock on a door. I said no thanks and got in my car. I don’t usually deny a handout about God, no matter what faith based religion passes it out. But I refuse to participate in this watered down version of the Jehovah’s Witness Attack. If this new breed can’t be bothered to accost me like the Jehovah’s Witnesses of yore, I’ll just stick with reading my Bible. Thanks.

When in doubt, refer to the chart.

2011-04-22T05:49:00.001-07:00

On Forgiveness

2011-04-19T05:11:00.000-07:00

I released someone today…And it felt good.

And I know this sounds like something Iyanla Vanzant would say, or something Oprah would have a whole episode dedicated to. And if you know me, you’d know I’m not one for forgiveness.

I’m more of a “I’m going to hold on to all this anger and venom, deep down in my heart, and secretly direct it towards you, and in kind I hope it makes all your hair fall out and all your endeavors turn to ash.” A year ago, I even dedicated a blog post to how much my fake smile towards someone was like acid in my throat, corroding my insides and how I wanted to taste the sticky sweetness of revenge in my mouth and what not, and how the only way to satiate my hunger was for this person’s life to turn to rot .
It was very…intense.
It was also 100% true.

But I find that all that anger inside me, reflected in so many ways in my life, it was ridiculous. As much as I am an angry person, I am also a pragmatist. And I know that it doesn’t make sense, to stay so mad at people, for so long…long after they’ve even thought about you…long after you even truly remember what it is that was making you so angry, that those feelings start to show outwardly…and wear on your face and body and in your spirit. I also know that wishing ill will on someone…even someone who has legitimately wronged you, is just as evil as the original wrong. Cause trust me; everyone gets theirs in the end. With or without your silent cheerleading for them to live miserably.

I don’t always come at this conclusion, when I’m mad. There are still people for whom I secretly delight in their uncomfortable-ness. I can admit that. I don’t wish them dead. But I don’t wish them all the happiness in the world either.

I am a work, in progress.

And I am working on it…little by little… person by person.

Today, I released someone. I told them I forgive them.

And it was 100% true.

And you know what? It brought tears to my eyes, it shocked me so much. To really and truly forgive someone for what they have done, and move on. I had no idea I’d get that emotional over it all… (then again I do start the MENSIES next week).

Still. I’m counting this as a victory. As one less stone of hurt in my heart. As a check in my BIG GIRL column. I don’t want to keep all this anger.

For as some wise person once said, “bitterness is like swallowing poison and expecting the other person to die…”

(psst…but someone needs to tell that to rage wolf...)

Love and Sex and your 30's

2011-04-14T04:46:00.000-07:00

One of my friends sent me an email yesterday asking what happened to the days when we used to send “the best” emails to each other. And underneath her message was an email thread between the two of us from 2007, filled with tales of all the “lover’s angst” of my late 20’s. I was 27 to be exact. And regaling to her, tales of woe regarding the two gentleman I’d been back and forth between.

And how come, in 2011, four years later and four years wiser, I have had contact with both these men, in pretty much the same ways I was having contact with them in 2007, though on a much smaller scale in one instance. Still…it’s like time has frozen. It’s like no one has changed; not the one, not the other, not even myself.

Really? Have I not emotionally matured in 4 years? This cannot be the case. I mean, I have done a TON of grown up things since then:

1. I bought blinds for my living room after living with paper temporary blinds for 4 years.
2. ….that’s it.

No, that’s not it. I’ve made growth in other areas. From how I relate to my coworkers, to speaking up more in situations with my boss, to more acceptance of myself, my flaws and my awesomeness, to accepting truths about friends I was at one point too naïve to admit to myself. I’ve had a lot of stern talkings with Bonita Marie, etched out some life plans, and though the going is slow-going at best, I think I’m progressing.

Except when it comes to men. When it comes to men, I can be, perpetually 14. I feel like I never get over anyone. I feel like when any ex comes back into my life, I always feel for them the way I felt for them. A part of me will always have an attraction to them, always want them to want me they way they used to want me…always hold a tiny glimmer of a hope, that it might work, under the right circumstances.

Last night, an ex lover of mine (I don’t mean to sound pretentious by using the word “lover”. I use it a lot now. For a lot of things. Everyone, down to my most platonic girlfriend is a “lover” these days…) came over for seafood and shots. In hindsight, it wasn’t a good idea. One, because I’m not 25 anymore and my alcohol tolerance is about as high as my tolerance for teenagers. And two, because alcohol, and me, and this man, is a recipe for trouble.

And trouble we had. And though this was the first contact I’ve had with him in MONTHS, there were no sweet text messages the morning after. Just a simple conversation initiated by me on how this type of contact is not a good idea, and a half acknowledgement from him, which will probably lead to another 2 months of radio silence.

Hmmm…maybe I am growing up? Maybe part of growing up is not expecting every romantic encounter to turn into what you dream of the perfect courtship. Not to sound bleak about my future. I still think of hand holding, and how he (whomever “he” may be) will propose to me… about sexy Saturday night trysts, and easy Sunday mornings.

I’m still a romantic at heart, lovers.

But sometimes, and ex is just and ex. And ex sex, is just ex sex…no matter how wonderful.

But I can still enjoy it. I’m a grown up. And grownups can do that sort of thing.

something that only happens once you pass 30

2011-04-08T05:44:00.001-07:00

I've noticed something that happens a lot, the older I get. This little tick of a habit... a slight mind spasm... a small ember of a thing that quietly develops into a huge flame inside my body, making me feel overheated and ferklepmt; giving me the sudden urge to buy cheetah print everything.

It happened today, as I escorted three Comcast cable techs around my building, to complete work that I am the project lead on. Sure I could have been walking behind them, clipboard in hand, furiously taking notes and recording every piece of information they gave me to ready my status report.

But I found myself instead slyly stealing glances at their broad backs when they walked past, dreamily looking at the fuzzy valley of afro textured stomach hairs that peaked from under their lifted shirts, as they reached up into the ceiling trays, pulling cable...oh those curly stomach hairs that trailed to the tops of their exposed boxers...

No for real. I'm not playing. I was lustfully looking at them while they worked. At first it was just one of them...the one that ironically most reminded me of the man I just "broke up" with. But then I noticed I was doing it to all of them... I recounted to one of my friends,

" ...And they were all cute, but one in particular was so nice looking, with his broad shoulders and work hands and thick-ass D.C. accent... and I wanted to just take him in the closet and kiss on his neck and rub my hands all over his body. Like I mean I was FEENIN' BAD! Like I had a drug problem and he was the world's largest line of coke. DAMNIT I AM GOING THROUGH WITHDRAWALS! It's like I'm homeless and I don't know where my next meal is coming from. Every man looks like steak to me right now.."

It's true. It happened last Saturday when the plumber (and I know this sounds like an intro to the world's most stereotypical porno) had to come into my house to... plug his hose into my electrical socket.
I mean this in all seriousness. There is no power on the outside of my building and he had to suck up a whole mess of things-that-come-from-exposed-sewage-pipes. Soooo...not as sexy as it sounds. Still, when I looked at him, he was fine. Fine, fine, FINE. And even a little flirty. But he did not ask for the digits.

Much like the Comcast-cable-tech-who-reminds-me-of-my-ex. My pulse started to quicken when I had to take him and him only, to the phone/data closet on a whole 'nother floor....BY OURSELVES. In my wildest fantasies, he'd pin me to the wall and make out with me, right there between the bundled tie-cables and 110 voice blocks. And talk nerdy to me, about needing splitters for the cable tap, while he grabbed at my buttocks.

In my most tame fantasy, he'd ask if I had a boyfriend.

But what really happened was, he did his work. And I stood in the hallway, wondering what his underwear looked like, and how he liked his eggs cooked in the morning.

And after the second time I had to take him, BY OURSELVES to a different closet, and the same thing happened, I started to berate myself:

"Look at you! You idiot! Why did you wear these orthopedic work shoes! How come you don't wear heels! Of course he's not making out with you, what with your bucking-against-the-trend natural hair and your overweight frumpiness! Or maybe he has a girlfriend? Or several? Or he's MARRIED. Which is worse because there isn't the potential for him to break up soon. BONITA, YOU IDIOT!"

I'm somewhere in between cougar status, and a child-like boy craziness that I can't quite explain...Somewhere between still having the acne of my youth, and buying a skin tight, floor length, long sleeve, leopard print cocktail dress. I should have my own bravo show.

here we go loop-de-loo

2011-03-31T10:41:00.000-07:00

i had been thinking about him* for some time.... so much so in fact, it made my stomach tie in knots. and it wasn't a romantic thing. just a literal inability to get him off my mind. so i opened the lines of communication. and things were friendly for the first few exchanges. within a week, he'd asked to see me.

and the night that he showed up, the whole thing went from friendly, to i-can't-be-apart-from-you status. i mean there was tons of "i miss you"s, and "you made me a better man"s, and the ultimate, "i still love you"... and it's close relative, "do you love me?" what could i say? i couldn’t pretend to not to have feelings for him. and i can't pretend that my heart didn't flitter with the possibility of falling right back into our routine.

and fall back into our routine we did. for the next 5 weeks or so, it was dining out, and having drinks, and laying in bed, and cooking together. it was sugar and spice and everything nice, and some things naughty. and it was wonderful...except for that little tap on my shoulder. and when i would turn around, i'd see me. standing in the corner, hands clasped, pigeon-toed and anxious. and i would say to ME, "you know you have to ask him, don't you?..." and I'D say back, "quiet you!" rolling back over, into my lover's arms.

only, i DID know i had to ask him. i knew the conversation, had to happen. but having it, would more than likely mean no more nights laying next to him in bed, and no more homemade buffalo wings and march madness, and no more kisses on the neck, and expectant weekends. and the reason i knew that the conversation would be the beginning of lots of no more’s, was because this same thing happened, 3 months prior. with the same night of broken promises, and impassioned embraces, and conversations, and disappointments. i could have had the conversation four weeks ago in fact. but i wasn't ready for the no more’s. so i pretended i didn't see me in the corner, and kept on loving him.

and then last weekend, the conversation started itself. not in a big way. not with a bang. it started itself, with absolute silence. i got no calls. no texts. no afternoon visits. no late night visits. the no more’s started all by themselves. and i was left sitting on the couch with the "well damn." face. by late sunday evening, i had already filled a whole weekend with my lonely girl internal dialog and my why-aren't-i-special-enough dialog to know that the conversation would be inevitable. Cause you WILL NOT go a full weekend with no words and then come over on a Monday night, looking for some boo'ed up action. That is what you will not do. and when i got the text, late that night, from him, asking "what happened to us today" (today mind you...forget friday and saturday) i simply replied, "whatever always happens." and when he told me he was coming over with food, i nicely declined. and all he said was okay. i'm not sure if that was a nonchalant, okay. or an angry okay. or a here-we-go-again okay. it came with no exclamation or punctuation. so i rolled over, into no one’s arms, and went to bed.

and monday, we had the conversation. It matters little what was said, since i could have worded it all by lonesome, playing both parts, without his help. but it boils down to us clearly not being on the same page. we want different things. and he is well within his right, to want his freedom and to enjoy his bachelorhood, though that wasn't how the conversation went that first night he showed up in my house, but that is a whole 'nother story. despite what he said and how strong his feelings seem(ed) to be, he never verbally said what i let myself believe, which was that we'd be us again, officially. and though he wanted to keep the lines of communication open, i gave him the only honest answer i could muster; what would we say to each other? in the day and age of "facebook" friendships, i can't pretend to be that man's friend. i want more than that. so this chapter, is closed. i don't know if the book is closed. we have been down this road before. however, it very well could be.

the funny thing about all this is, i thought, for a split second, about the option of being "friends." or friendly. or whatever consolation prize he wanted to give me. (and let me be clear in stating, i don't mean to down talk him, because for all his faults, he is a good person, and and has been a good man to me (most notably when we were actually together). and i'm very certain that one day, he will make some woman, very happy...) where was i? oh yes, the facebook friendship. i could have very well agreed to be friends. and we may have had friendly chit chat. we may have gone out. there is a strong possibility we'd have gotten busy sometime in the future, luxuriating in some perpetual state of fake, boo'ed up-ness.

but i find myself to be a very ALL or NOTHING type of person, as of late. and if you are not in this with me, be it a romantic relationship, a friendship, or hell a work meeting, then you’re not in this with me. and i find that, in many relationships i see, the female will tough it out and stand by her man, even if he isn't standing by her. and SOMETIMES, she wins her prize, be it a wedding ring, or a baby, or just someone to lay in her bed at night. and i have to ask myself, am i doing it all wrong? am i being a bit ridiculous? are my morals making it so i'll never be with anyone because no one can live up to what i consider the MINIMUN requirement to ride this ride? i can't believe that, because i'm really not that complicated. but damn. as a good friend of mine once said, i'm way too into myself to be with anyone who isn't completely in love with me.

so i bid a fond farewell to him. i love him down to the white meat, but i can't be his late night boo.

The Warning

2011-03-29T10:05:00.000-07:00

This movie is about what happened at my job, with one of the most influential women in politics and government in my opinion, and the tragedy that has followed not heeding her warning. If there is one woman's hand you want to shake, it's Brooksley Born's.

Rats in a Race

2011-03-22T11:31:00.000-07:00

Today is a day I want to quit.

Correction, I want to quit lots of days. Many times, over the course of the past 12 years at my glorious, federal government job, I’ve wanted to quit. And to most sane people, most people updating their resumes and shining their shoes, and putting on their suits to go on yet another interview where the very real possibility of being nicely rejected via letter would be a welcome courtesy over the times they never get told anything at all, I sound like a complainer.

And yet, today I want to quit. Today I want a rich husband. Today I want the winning 10 million dollar jackpot. Today I want to come from old money. Today I want to quit, without worrying about my next meal, or who will pay Bank of America that pesky mortgage payment they keep asking I pay on the 1st of the month.

And nothing terribly bad is happening at work today. Or I should say nothing terribly out of the ordinary; for something “bad” happens every day in the sense that the logic of this job can be at times, ass backwards.

Getting tasked random assignments that have no specific direction or any purpose that would further our goals or team, having to work within parameters that make it hard to accomplish anything, dealing with ass kissers and know-it-alls, and sulkers, and people who are generally annoying, sitting at my desk wondering will this be the rest of my life, and waking at the butt crack of dawn tomorrow, as I have every day for the past 12 years, to do it all again.

Aren’t I more talented than this? Shouldn’t I be doing something slightly more kickass? Do most people feel the same way I feel about their jobs…or is this just me?

I was pondering this as I picked through my Cosi Caesar salad with too much dressing and too few croutons, when I happened to use my supreme ear hustling skills to tune in to a conversation happening behind me on the left, of a woman and man sitting in a booth, looking over a presentation. People often come in to the Cosi downtown for working lunches, which I don’t really get. Why would I want to do something I don’t enjoy, while doing something I do enjoy? That fucks up my equilibrium.

At any rate, I figured they were discussing the latest facts and figures over a laptop, when I realized that what they were looking at was not a laptop, but a video phone.

Have you been accosted by the video phone pushers? My friend was in it. It’s a business venture to sell video phones, which doesn’t make a whole heap of sense to me because one, no one uses a house phone since everyone has cell phones, and two, every major cell phone company sells a cell phone with video phone capabilities. And I’m sure I’m marginalizing the video phone land line hustle for is HAS to be deeper than that. It HAS to be. Otherwise I really can’t see how they are in business. At any rate, the company is set up just as any pyramid scheme; you pull in two more people and if those two people make 20 sells, you make $100 without doing anything! AMAZING.

So the young woman is getting her hustle on, and in the middle of her presentation, the guy has to take a phone call having something to do with the sell or purchase of a property and lamenting over how it was the loan officers fault, and some other things. My ear hustle is not THAT good. Suffice to say, he’s was fervently trying to buy or sell something, which lead me to question his financial situation, since he’s intently listening to an over-sell of a pyramid scheme venture by a young lady who could not be older than I am.

And that’s when it hit me.

For all the crap ass shit I have to do when I come into this fine federal office, what I do not have to do is sell, or listen to the sell, of a product as obsolete a as the video phone to make my money…

Cause I’m willing to bet, she doesn’t want to sell that phone, nor does he. But desperate times call for desperate measures. And me leaving this job, in this economy, might land me in a position where I have to pitch cloth pad style mops to 30 people so I can rake in $40 a week, when Swiffer invented that like 8 years ago.

The things I love (READ:ART) don’t necessary pay well. You can’t eat art. You can wrap up in creativity to keep you warm at night. And unless everyone has disposable income, selling things that aren’t a necessity is a hard hustle.

And if I’m not going to move on to something I love, what’s the point of moving? To get paid to hate a new field? To do something easier to make slightly more money? (<- this can be just as hard as getting paid what you get paid to do a job you know how to do. Trust me on this. I had a friend who gets paid a little more than me but had no real tasks and just sat her desk all day. She quit.) To do something harder to make less is just nonsense, so we won’t even add that as an option. No universe, I don’t want to sell land line video phones, thank you very much. And now, back to work.

Conversations between me and my coworkers

2011-02-08T03:53:00.000-08:00

‎‎Williams, Yvonne D.‎‎ [1:40 PM]:
i'm not going to be able to sit in that meeting for 1.5 hrs
with no snack

‎‎Glover, Bonita‎‎ [1:41 PM]:
what would you like?
we can sit there physically...
but through astroprojection.
we can send our minds and spirits somewhere else.
i'm sorry..."astral" projection
http://cherokeebillie.files.wordpress.com/2010/06/astral-projection.jpg

‎‎Williams, Yvonne D.‎‎ [1:46 PM]:
i like astro better than astral
do we have to practice this first

‎‎Glover, Bonita‎‎ [1:46 PM]:
probably. i'm not really sure how to do it.

‎‎Williams, Yvonne D.‎‎ [1:47 PM]:
does it require a certain type of snack

‎‎Glover, Bonita‎‎ [1:47 PM]:
i don't think so. i don't even think it requires us to be consious.

on love...

2011-01-14T06:33:00.000-08:00

I am thinking about him…more than I care to admit.
More than I allow myself to say aloud.
More times than I blink in a day, I am thinking about him.

This is the stuff of heartbreak.

Of old Mary J. Blige tapes and Lenny williams on repeat, in my room on the floor, in the dark.
I would like, with all my being, to be over him.
Over his smile and his smell, and his touch, and his skin.
Because he has not been, what I need him to be…
And the other party of me. The wholly irrational, illogical part that believes in fate and happy endings,
Wants nothing more than to go to him and curl my body to fit into his, and stay there forever.
These two sides of me, war constantly. Right now, the former is attempting to drown out the soft sighs of the latter.
But I just keep thinking of him.
Thinking of him.
Thinking of him.

the wonderous world of plagerism

2011-01-07T06:56:00.000-08:00

I’m seriously an art FAIL. But only in so far as I think WAY too highly of my copycat skills. I like to draw. I like to paint. Witness my moderately okay work below(no compliment fishing).

But it seems that I cannot find MY OWN voice most of the time. I’ll see a drawing, and I’ll immediately think I can duplicate it. and sometimes, I’ve even been right. I’m pretty okay at duplicating what I see in front of my face, or duplicating a move I see someone make in terms of their methods.
But when it comes to CREATING my own style? I’m lost. When it comes to drawing something awesome off the top of my head? Again, lost. I can’t. I immediately search for something to draw, because there is nothing in my brain except crickets and leftover Dominoes cheesy bread.

Jesus be a creativity booster in gelcap form.

Successful...On Paper.

2010-12-09T06:24:00.000-08:00

My parents raised, for all intents and purposes, two good kids. We did as we were told. And minus that short period in my life where I slightly lost my mind, we generally did not step out of line. We got good grades in school, in part because we aimed to, but mainly because we were supposed to. We both went to college without the slightest question as to whether or not college spoke to what we wanted to do with our lives because we were supposed to go to college. We both entered into the job force soon after we left college without the post college prerequisite of “finding ourselves” because we needed to start earning money. We both worked for the government. While my sister went on to venture out into the private industry in a slightly less conventional job, it was a WELL PAYING, less conventional job. And while I stayed in the government, I’ve risen up the ranks well past lowly intern. We both own cars. We both own our own homes. And while we’re a bit slow on the uptake of the whole husband and children thing, my sister just recently got married, so at least one of us is well on our way.

I say all this to say, we did what we were supposed to do. And as promised, it has provided us with semi-stable lives… or at least, as stable as any one person can be in the current economic times. Ask the average person from the outside looking, and they would say, we are, for all intents and purposes, successful.

As I was in the car, riding with a friend and the conversation of life came up, as it so often does with us, he turns to me and says, “You have been very successful…” and I give my normal smirk and make some offhand remark that could be summed us as “not really.” And he chastised me. He told me of my house, and my car, and my degree, and my long standing job, and my surprising ability to have made it out of my whoring 20’s without children, etc. etc…

But he does not get it.

I reply, “These are not successes… at least, they are not what we were raised to believe are successes. My parents are proud of all these accomplishments; however, these are things we were expected to do, because they are things you are supposed to do. You’re supposed to have a home/car/job/stable income in my parents’ eyes. Not only are you supposed to, you damn well better for the money they shelled out in education and the arduous years of catholic guilt they have instilled in us…”

And because of these terms of success, I have built up a healthy fear of “stepping out of line”; of disappointing anyone. Of doing anything other than what was expected of me.

I tell my friend, “I used to color my ass away…and when I was too old color, I would draw. And on occasion paint…but those days waned too… I had info sys tests to pass, and resumes to write. And when I realized what I know now, that I should have made different decisions, I got afraid. Afraid of not doing what was expected…of how my life would turn out if I jumped ship in the middle of it and changed course. So I keep doing what’s expected. You know what success is to me? It’s not the person who did everything they were supposed to. It’s the person who has the courage to be exactly who they were meant to be, regardless of what’s expected of them. I did what I was supposed to… So I guess it depends on how you view success.”
It only came up just now because I was talking with my sister about how we are to this day even, scared to disappoint our parents. Upset at what they’ll think of things. She mentioned not wanting my mom and dad to know something, for fear of what they will think of her. And I thought it odd, that at 38, she is afraid of what my parents will say. I find it odder still that at 30, I am the same way.

My parents, for all intents and purposes have raised two good kids…

But your life will not be measured by your high school report card, or your college diploma, or how many cars or houses you’ve owned…And if it is measured by that, then I feel sorry for us.

As absolutely, mind numbingly long life can sometimes be,
It is, at the same time, impossibly, unquestionable, heartbreakingly, short.

What a blessed sacrament it must be then,

To love with all your being,
To do what you and only you were designed to do,
To get the chance to laugh until your stomach aches and your eyes tear,
To hold your lover,
To hold your child,
To turn over a new leaf,
To be exactly who you are meant to be…

Despite what your parents might think.

Rest in Peace, Kentresa Riley ~

the next thing you know, i'll be feeding alley cats on the corner, dressed in rags.

2010-12-09T05:34:00.000-08:00

i am so completely comfortable in solitude, that it is starting to wig me out.

and at the same time, i am so whole-heartedly in love with being around folks...being in the mix...being outside, or in the know of the cool spots to hang out at (which by the way i never figure out)... i mean, i love people. but i also love solitude.

i'm excited sometimes, for a friday night that involves my favorite snack and watching Fringe on DVR... contemplating going clubbing makes my teeth itch and skin crawl sometimes. i have attempted figuring out the coolest artsy fartsy hangouts in the city, but DC isn't NY. there isn't a huge underground "creatives" scene...or if their is, it's REALLY underground, and perhaps i'm not arty enough to find it.

add the 30 degree temperatures that we are experiencing as of late and i've turned into a fine couch potato.

this blog really has no point other than to say, i like my house, and reading books in bed, and cooking, and watching the Wire on dvd. but i'm scared i'll become one of those recluse cat ladies.

i need to find a middle ground.

Conversations with Self...

2010-09-29T05:35:00.000-07:00

"i can't fit anything out of anthropologie...but i was just about to randomly post a blog on how that store was made for people who are as light as goosefeathers, and have eyelashies as long as butterfly wings, and keep porcelain ornaments on their night stands...i may still write it. that sounds pretty good."

Evidence of my social anxiety disorder, way back when...

2010-09-29T05:17:00.000-07:00

When I was a little girl, my parents would dress me up in my Christmas finery, which usually meant something velvet, and take me to the mall…and my palms would start to sweat as we neared the big Christmas display, with the big Santa chair, because I knew that it meant they wanted to get me to go sit on his lap, and take a photo. And I would lose.my.shit. I would start crying and pulling from them and running in the opposite direction. It literally put the fear of God in me. I felt it a cruel joke. Not because I was scared of Santa. Far from it. I didn’t mind Santa at all. But I was scared of everyone LOOKING at me. Having everyone look at me, take that picture, was a fate worse than death. I would have gladly stepped on up, and curled myself into his lap, and smiled for the picture, were we the only ones there. But there were all those dagblasted people…everywhere…looking. They tried this for years, until they were too tired to try again, or I was too old, one. My mom often comments on how everyone has a picture of their child with the mall Santa…except her. (well, my sister took one, but my mother wants a set I suppose).
I thought about doing it; taking a picture on Santa’s lap, now… as an adult, and giving it to her for Christmas. But it would probably be less cute, and more pornographic…especially if I’m dressed in what I CURRENTLY consider my Christmas finery.

conversations with a coworker about Nutella

2010-09-09T05:08:00.000-07:00

"i always thought it looked foreign, like it was from denmark or something and i assumed it would be nasty. but they brought it to the beach house this summer and i was obsessed with it. so i finally bought some about a week or so ago. and now, i'm addicted. i dip EVERYTHING in nutella. which isn't good. b/c it's high in calories. which is probably why it tastes so good. i thought it was healthy for some reason. go figure. it's good on Eggo's. i also dipped about 3 bags of 100 calorie sweet and salty snacks in it last night. i'm sure that defeated the purpose..."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2sHzWg2XX1U

stupid kenneth with his stupid kenneth face!

2010-08-19T04:55:00.001-07:00

i had done so well...so, so well...ignoring kenneth*. kenneth* is the type of man that gets stuck in between your teeth like popcorn kernal husks, or dirt underneath your fingernails. you're not really sure how it got there, but it's hard to get out.

i have been...with kenneth* on and off for about 4 years now. and when i say "with" what i mean to say is a lengthy sadistic game of cat and mouse that my being refuses to quit playing for some very good reasons and some very bad ones. not to say i haven't tried. oh, I'VE TRIED. just not hard enough apparently.

the stories of me and kenneth* could fill volumes...the whole affair is probably not nearly as dramatic in black in white as it has been in my head so i won't bore you with the details. i'll just say, on most any day, if the question was asked, i'd have to say i loved him. or still do love him. and yet, he is the one man i can't have. or shouldn't have.

so as is so often the case, i had been ignoring him, so to speak. for almost a solid month now. and then yesterday, out of the blue, while i was standing on a corner. he popped up. almost out of thin air. and the look on his face, was priceless. i had been trying to ignore him for days, after he started back up with the phone calls, and now, i couldn't ignore him. you could have bought me with a nickel. and he's all, "hello there!..."

i wanted to hate him. punch him in the throat. kick his shins and run the hell out of there.

but he was standing there...in my face...being all, kennethy*, with his kenneth face. and melting my heart, the way he does. and it's hard to hate him face to face sometimes. i could feel my cheeks getting all flush and my head getting all loopy. and after much back and forth and witty banter filled with sexual tension, i broke, and spent the better part of the evening with him, doing what we do, laughing at our jokes, watching our shows, being...us.

IT FUCKING SUCKS. being so hopelessly attached to someone who you know will cause you nothing but heartache, and being too dumb to stop yourself.

i'm sure by next tuesday, there is the very real possibility kenneth will do something dumb and i'll not be speaking to him. heck, as far as i'm concerned, the not speaking can start now. right now. today. even after the wonderful evening we had. as a matter of fact, it has started. here i go.

...

i miss him already.

*names changed to protect the...who am i kidding. no one who knows him will ever read this.

Laissez Les Bon Temps Roulez...

2010-06-18T09:04:00.000-07:00

There was this really good dude I dated about 10 years ago.
I mean, really good dude.
Everybody loved him.
Like everybody.
Ladies liked him,
fella’s wanted to be his friend.
He was just that type of person.
He still is.

And I broke up with him.

I broke up with him after 3 years of uninterrupted good times.
And the reason that I broke up with him,
Was the same reason everyone loved him.
He was, a pleaser.
He never met a person he didn’t like.
And there wasn’t a person that didn’t like him.
There wasn’t an issue too big for him to tackle,
A cause he didn’t care about,
Or a problem he didn’t try and fix.
He wanted everyone to be happy, all the time.

But it’s impossible to make everyone happy, all the time.
It’s impossible to always be the hero and never the villain.
And it stands to reason that if you try to give all of yourself to everyone all the time, you’re going to run out of “self” to give…And someone, somewhere, is going to get the short end of the stick.

And I started to feel like it was going to be me.

I couldn’t take that he was SO giving, and SO caring, that he would never say no.
I couldn’t take the fact that he never wanted to disappoint ANYone.
I couldn’t fathom the likelihood that in the event that he DID have to say no, due to his life demands, the person he’d have to say “no” to would more than likely be me.
And at the time, I was far too vain to even consider coming in second place to just about anything.

So I broke up with him. And ended something, that for years after, always made me wonder what might have been…

This blog really has nothing to do with my him.

I read somewhere that the thing you dislike most about a person, is probably the thing you dislike most about yourself.I never believed that. Honestly, what sense does that make? But upon further inspection, I’ve noticed that I have this nagging little habit…

I want to be happy, ALL the time.

And that might seem normal enough. I mean, who doesn’t want to be happy? But in the real world that we live in, what with bills, and babies, and husbands who cheat on their wives, and wives who run up credit cards debt, and boyfriends who get shot, and girlfriends who sleep with your best friend, and sicknesses, and old age, and disease, and loneliness, and despair, and genocide in Africa and earthquakes in Haiti, and oil spills in the gulf, and the series finale of your favorite TV shows (clears throat *LOST*), at some point in time, you’re going to have to be unhappy.
And if you magically find a way to not have any troubles in your life, you’re going to have people in your life that have troubles. And part of a being a good human being, is being there for them, through good times AND BAD.

And I like being there for people. Really, I do. But to be honest, being in upsetting situations gives me anxiety attacks. And I don’t mean “makes me a little nervous.” I mean sweaty palms, and nausea. I mean hyperventilating and delusion. I mean I’ve had to cancel outings and turn around and go home. I mean PHYSICAL AVERSION.

And THAT is a bit much.

Gina said to me: “it’s highly unlikely/unrealistic to think that you can navigate your way around ALL unhappiness or “only” be the Happy-maker for everyone around you. And then you may be faced with even more anxiety when you find yourself in a situation where you can’t avoid the negative feelings/situations. Like, in doing so, you will have to severely limit your emotional connections…which make it impossible to share/show love/compassion/companionship. I guess it’s a trade-off, in some respects.”

A friend of mine told me that I had to come to her party, because I was the “good times girl.” I could make everyone laugh. Folks have a good time around me. And that’s not the first time I’ve heard that. I like making people’s day. I like making people laugh. I like making people happy. I like when good times are had and I like when that’s due, in some small part, to my presence.But I’ve also heard the opposite. I’m not the “bad times girl.”

A different friend once told me that they’d never come to me with a real problem. Because I don’t seem like I’d even be able to be serious for long enough to give it concern. Like I was some constant joke real. I took offense to it, but when I thought about it, since when have I not been able to make a joke about almost EVERYTHING? And if it was too serious to make a joke out of, I try to get real quiet and blend in with the wall and say the following incantation:

I am wall paper.
I am light as air.
I am a grain of sand.
I am a chamelian, blending in with the background.
I can disappear…

If I can’t make people happy in the only way I know how to, I have to remove myself from the situation. And I can’t rejoin the situation/group/friend until the air is all clear, and someone else has attended to the unpleasantness of fixing the sad parts.

And when it’s me that’s sad?

I fix it with one of my 3 surefire sadness busters:

1. Comatose like sleep.
2. Eastern Market.
3. Food.And after a few days of sleep, retail therapy at the market, and biscuits from Popeye’s, I gets “not sad” anymore!…

And even if I am still sad (which is often the case), I have mastered the art of pretending not to be sad, lulling myself into a state of forgetfulness, so I can hurry on back to the state of being happy.

Then I can come in and tell a joke.

And everyone laughs.

Wanting to be happy, all the time, may not seem like the worse vice,
But obsession with happiness, can be.

Which kind of brings me back to that guy I sort of loved...

Our means were different.
But our ends were the same:

Happiness.

We want people to be happy.
We want to be happy.
At any cost.

Whether that be fixing every problem,
Or avoiding them.

Happiness is our virtue.

Happiness is our vice.…

dude. My blogs are seriously heavy lately. Which is why I stopped blogging. So in an effort to lighten things up:

2010-06-18T06:24:00.000-07:00

photographic evidence, of the blog before...

2010-05-24T08:00:00.000-07:00

Que Lastima!

2010-04-21T10:09:00.000-07:00

Me and my friends used to say that in college when something was horrible. But not really horrible. Just fake horrible, like in a funny way. Our Spanish teacher used to say it all the time. Didn’t have your homework? Que lastima! Didn’t know the answer to her indistinguishable Spanish question? Que lastima!

Yesterday was a very fucking que lastima sort of day. But in a real way. Not a fake, funny way.
My boyfriend and I attended the wedding of one of my dear, dear friends on Sunday, where, at the reception, he proceeded to tell me he didn’t see himself getting married to me…then he cleaned it up by saying he didn’t see himself getting married, period. And then it was time to catch the bouquet. And I swear to God, I just stood there, frozen, with my hands on my purse… and the flowers would have LITERALLY hit me in the face, LITERALLY, had the girl next to me not reached out and grabbed them. And I did not make one single, solitary move; I don’t even think I blinked. I just slightly lowered my head so as not to get hit square in the eye. But then *woosh* the save from the single lady to my right. And a friend behind me screamed BONITA! WHY DIDN’T YOU GRAB THAT! And I just gripped my purse tighter and smiled.

And the next night, after all the awkward silence that was Sunday evening, I had a conversation with my boyfriend, about all that was said, and he says, just because he doesn’t see himself married, doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be in this relationship, and it doesn’t mean that one day, he won’t change his mind. But he’s just being honest. Which, I appreciate. I’m not mad that he doesn’t see himself married, or married to me, as I like to call it even though he said that part QOUTE, UNQOUTE, IN JEST. The problem is, that I can see myself married in the future. Maybe to him if things went well, or if things went better, as is more accurate of late. And I can’t be with someone who doesn’t wake up and say to himself, “Man I’m a lucky guy to have this woman in my life and one day, I want to marry her and give her tons of babies!” … I know, how very vain of me. I don’t even like babies. But I do want someone to have that thought about me.

And clearly, the dude doesn’t. To make a long story even longer, the conversation ended with us politely agreeing to break up. Politely. And we went to bed. And the next day he left his key.

And that, as they say is that.

And then it was Tuesday, and I was already off work, so I went to the mall by my house and bought like, 4 different types of cookies and ate the middles out of all of them. And then I sat in the same spot on the couch forever. And then I went to sleep for 2 and a half hours. And then I woke up and one of my best friends called to tell me that due to a serious of unfortunate events, she has to move. She literally lives one block over from me, and she had to move. Next week. And I’m like, really? REALLY, UNIVERSE?!?! CAN THIS DAY GET ANY WORST?!

It’s not the worse day maybe. It just felt like it. My friend moving, might be for the best, for her. And me and my EX boyfriend, well, I felt this conversation coming, weeks before this whole wedding incident. I took a very firm stance on the side of “this shit isn’t working out” during our Monday night conversation, but then the next day, I panicked… like was I just being dramatic because I was at a wedding, surrounded by my married friends, who kept mouthing "you're next!" across the room while I was sitting at a table, listening to my boyfriend say he didn't see himself married? Was all this an allergic reaction to being around too many married people at once? Cause realistically, I’m not ready to get married either, so what does it matter that he said that?

But the more rational part of me has had this feeling for awhile now. This weird, back of my mind feeling that this whole off/on relationship we’ve had for going on 4 years now was always "temporary" and like maybe we were both just passing time? And as much as the nonchalant-ness of the whole situation hurts my feelings a little, and as much as I know I will be sad for awhile, I also know if it was meant to be, it wouldn't be so hard for us to stay together. And we'd both be on the same page, or closer pages at least.

And now we’re broken up. And now one of my best friends is moving away. And now another of my best friends is married. Maybe I’m just having separation anxiety because all my friends are moving on in different places in their life and I feel like I’m in the same place. In the same job. In the same house. And it seems like it’s never going to change and I’m going to die, a CFTC employee, single, living on C street.

¡Que lastima!

losing weight is really, really easy

2010-03-31T11:51:00.000-07:00

*straight face* no serious, it is! just stop eating! take for instance this last week. while on travel for my job to chicago, i caught this wonderful little stomach bug that, incidentally, the guy i occasionally like to kiss in the mouth with tongue had the saturday prior. i would have spent the night looking concerned and watching over him from a distance so as not to catch it before my trip, but i was drunk, and slept through the whole ordeal. where was i, ah yes, in the middle of throwing up and sh*tting myself, simultaneously. lovely. and then i didn't eat for 3 days, out of sheer fear of what my body would do. and i lost 7lbs. see how easy that was!

this blog has nothing to do with losing weight. and everything to do with how much i missed home during my week stay in chicago. and chicago is a lovely place, full of lovely sites. but i was alone. i spent a saturday walking around millennium park and a sunday on state street. i got this really great smelling popcorn and took a picture at that giant futuristic grey jelly bean. but i was alone, and just coming off that lovely stomach bug, and sad. i don't see how people relocate... i guess, maybe if there's nothing at their current spot, then they don't have anything to lose. but i missed my parents. i missed my sister. i missed the guy i occasionally kiss in the mouth with tongue. i missed my friends. i missed my bed. i missed dc public transportation. i missed knowing my way around a city. i missed cooking. i missed ...home. and it struck me as odd, because before this trip, i swore i could successfully uproot my life and move to new york to become a starving artist (or better yet, a well paid one) if the opportunity presented itself because before this weekend, i slightly thought that being fulfilled in my career would trump being happy in a semi-relationship, or seeing friends and family every weekend.

but i was wrong.

i could have probably split this blog up into a vomit blog, and an i-love-my-family-and-friends blog, but i'm far too lazy for that.

Reasons for googling dante's inferno...

2010-03-26T14:54:00.001-07:00

I’m doing it again… that thing where I stop blogging because I can’t think of anything to say.

And the truth is, stuff has been happening in life. Big stuff and little nondescript stuff; things I’d find a funny way of putting a spin on in the past. Yet I don’t write. Maybe that’s because in the past, I had a semi decent sized audience that I knew would be reading. Hmmm… I hope not. I like to think I blog for me. I like to think I blog whether one person is reading, or no person is reading. But when folks left what I considered a pretty cool social networking site and traversed on over to facebook, or as I like to call it, the 10th ring of hell, so went my audience, and so went the blogging.

And now, I can’t think of anything to say.

But I always thought of things to say. I have 100’s upon 100’s of blogs. Good ones, not of the “I ate this for breakfast” variety.

And now, nothing. Nothing comes to mind.

So at least once per week, I am writing something, no matter how boring to dumb it seems, because I have to, or I’ll never get back at it.

NOTE: I wrote a blog on this same exact topic. And then didn’t blog again for another month. Here’s to doing better.

when i grow up...

2010-02-04T11:41:00.000-08:00

I never once said, “when I grow up, I want to be a telecommunications specialist…” partially because I didn’t know what a telecommunications specialist was. also, if someone had told me what it entailed, I’d consider it totally lame.

Yet here I am; telecommunications specialist extraordinaire.

I thought I’d be a painter, or make pizza for a living. I really liked pizza. I still do. at any rate, as I got a little older, I had no idea what I should do exactly. I still loved art. I loved to paint and draw. But I had no clue what that translated into, job wise. And I didn’t exactly have the type of parents that encouraged that “follow your dreams” spirit. They were all, “work hard in school and get a good job so you won’t have to be like us.” which in my brain, translated into, “you can forget that art shit.”

And when I got to college, I realized that many of the upper-crust kids that sat next to me in class, with their Abercrombie catalog looks and “old money” attitudes, already knew what they wanted to be. And if they didn’t, they did a good job of pretending they did. So here comes the pressure. My parents are currently hemorrhaging approximately $27,000 a YEAR for me to not have figured out what I wanted to be yet. And 4 years of not picking a major goes by very quickly. I wanted more time to discover what I could turn my love of creativity into, but I didn’t have it. Everyone else was choosing a major and signing up for their core curriculum, and I felt like I needed to make a decision, QUICK. So I nicely picked something I thought would net me a decent amount of money upon graduating, that I at least has a slight aptitude at: computers. And so an information systems major was born.

I did fairly well in my classes, narrowly managed to turn my summer internship at a government agency into a real job upon graduation, and 10 years later, I’ve successfully moved through the ranks of flunky, to lowly entry level computer tech, to lowly entry level computer tech with an actual cubicle, to semi-smart enough to probably fix your problem tech, to telecom specialist with an office.

I make decent money.
I have a pretty cool boss.
I work on a pretty cool team.
And I am a government employee (which to some folks READS: they can’t fire you. ever. Which is only sortof true)

So it all worked out in the end right?

…only I sit at my desk and write blogs that flow from my fingertips to the page effortlessly. And when someone told me, I should write a book, the thought never occurred to me in college.
And when I realize that my love of color, and texture, and painting, and designing could be turned into a lucrative, albeit unstable career in interior design, I think, “hmmm… that thought never occurred to me in college…”

And when I sit at this desk day in and day out and work on projects that don’t even remotely speak to what my real talent is… when I troubleshoot blackberry after blackberry, and punch down cross connect after cross connect, when I run wires through ceilings and terminate cable drops, I think, “yeah, this is a great skill and all, but I could totally be doing something with that pesky creativity gene that’s constantly gnawing at the right side of my brain…”

Only now, I have a mortgage. And have served 10 years of my 40 year sentence in the government, which technically means I should be a lifer. I mean, who gives up guaranteed money and benefits in THIS economy? I feel trapped. Trapped by mild success. I never in my wildest dreams would think steady money would ever be a curse.

And for a long time, I thought the problem all stemmed back from college, and feeling pressured to pick something. I thought if I’d just chosen something different, my life would be totally different. I thought the source of my current tribulations all came from a college major.
But I think it all goes back to the one thing I can’t change. Time. I’m not 18 anymore. I’m 29. I’m supposed to already know what I want to be when I grow up because I’m already grown up. There is no more time to test out different things while I still live in my parents’ house. I haven’t lived in their house for 6 years. I can’t go back. I can’t tell the bank, here’s your loan back, I no longer wish to be a homeowner. I can’t tell CFTC to take this “good ole’ government job” and shove it and walk out of here with my high standards and youthful optimism. I don’t have that luxury anymore. There are kids 12 years my junior already perfecting skills that i've only mildly scratched the surface of. I wish I could get a do-over. I wish I could start from scratch, fresh out of high school. I wish someone would have said, “be what you are.”
I would have come at this whole career thing TOTALLY differently. But it didn’t happen that way. It happened this way. And not only am I some what saddened by that fact, I have no clue how to change it.

…Or am I just too scared to actually change it?

A friend of mine is going through a rough time, and she gave me all these reasons why should could not change her situation. And I tell her, “Every situation can be changed. There’s always SOME way to change it, and even if it’s not the most appealing way, it’s better than staying in your current situation because changing it was too hard.”

If only swallowing some of my own medicine were easy…

2010

2010-01-25T07:29:00.000-08:00

I keep waiting until the last minute to purchase my calendar for the next year…

And let me just say, this is a big deal for me…seriously…it’s a big fucking deal. If I don’t choose the proper calendar, I refuse to look at it, or mark things on it…I literally lose the will to be concerned with the day’s date.

I normally get two calendars; one for work and one for home. But last year, I waited until like, January. Or was it the end of December? Either way, there was nothing left. Nothing good at least… I choose an Ironic Satire one for home with those fake “MOTIVATION” pictures on it, but instead of an actual motivational saying, all the pictures have some smart-alecky saying at the bottom. It was lame. I took it off my bedroom wall on account of how lame it was and literally stopped looking at it…or marking important dates on it, for that matter.
It sucked so bad I stopped tracking my cycle and literally thought I was pregnant because I had no idea when my last period was. I bet the calendar gods got a kick out of that one…
And the only other suitable one I could find for work was “Suicide Bunny.” Each month depicts “suicide bunny” in another humorous situation in which he kills himself…

It was either that, or Miley Cyrus. Or Ferraris.

THIS YEAR THOUGH, things will different!

I went to Borders in OCTOBER!!! …Or was it the first of November? Whatever, I went pretty damn early. And I immediately shot to the calendar section. No self hating bunnies for me this year, no sir! I WILL succeed this time!
…

…

…

There was nothing there. Nothing inspiring. Nothing funny. Nothing super pretty. It was all, Dogs Playing Poker, or just DOGS in general…or CATS…or World’s Tallest Mountains…or Twilight.

COME ON BORDERES! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME! THIS IS THE BEST YOU COULD COME UP WITH??? IT’S NOVEMBER FOR PETE’S SAKE!!!

sigh*…

2010 Ferrari’s, here I come…

i also have a fear of clowns and mall santas...

2010-01-22T12:04:00.000-08:00

The last birthday party I had, I turned 16-years-old. And my sister threw me a surprise birthday party. And not once, during the whole planning of the thing, did I suspect that she was doing this. And when I got home from school that day and all my friends jumped out of the basement and yelled surprise, I freaked out. And not in a good way. Oh in front of my guest, I was all smiles and laughs. And then I promptly went upstairs to the bathroom and hyperventilated for about 10 minutes... How did she do this? Why did she do this? Are folks having a good time? Are all my friends here? Did she leave anyone out? Did she invite anyone I didn’t want to come? A billion questions scurrying through my 16-year-old brain; sweat breaking out on my neck and back, turning my pristine Catholic School Uniform into a soggy mess. And though I eventually got over my party-phobia and rejoined my friends, and though, if I recall correctly, it was a total hit as far as surprise parties go, I’ve never thrown a birthday party since.

On February 7th, I’ll be turning 30. Thirty. THIRTY. 3.0.

It’s kind of a big deal. Or so I hear. People keep asking me what I’m doing. I feel like a total lame for having no plans whatsoever. When I even think of attempting to make a plan, I’m 16-years-old, all over again, in that bathroom, panicking. What if no one comes? I don’t really have any friends so who would I even invite? What if people come and they are bored? How lame would that be? A grown ass woman having a boring 30th birthday party? Where would I have it? I don’t have the money to throw myself something fancy enough to impress people. What if folks I haven’t seen in years come and can’t believe how impossibly fat I am now?

and on and on to infinity, amen.

The fears in my head, are somewhat irrational, I’ll admit. But I can’t get past them. I haven’t gotten past them in 14 years. Every year, it’s the same thoughts. You’d think that at 30, I’d be over this shit. But I’m not. I envy people who are excited come birthday time. I’ve never felt “excited” on my birthday. And that’s sort of an ungrateful comment, when you think about it... I mean, there are tons of folks who never see 30. And damnit, I’ve earned EVERY ONE of those years. I’m not upset about turning 30 (and still being childless and significant other-less as I’m sure my parents are dually noting.) That doesn’t bother me in the least. And it doesn’t bother me that I’m not where I thought I’d be at, at 30 years of age either. The number itself, is just another year I’ve been blessed to be on this earth. It’s a nice number, as far as numbers go. And it isn’t making me panic, and it isn’t making my biological clock tick any louder, and it isn’t turning me into a desperate cougar on the prowl (that happened when I turned 25). Turning 30, in the grand scheme of things, isn’t bothering me in the slightest.

But throwing a 30th birthday party for myself?, scares the bejesus out of me.

At any rate, I don’t have the money to do that. I might go out and dance a little. You’re welcome to come with, if you like. But if the music sucks and the drinks are watered down, please pretend that you’re still having fun, for my anxiety’s sake.

Only for the Grown and Sexy...

2010-01-19T13:20:00.000-08:00

previously posted...

I went to shoppers last Sunday, because I wanted to make some chili.

And I smiled at the guy working behind the bakery counter, because he was cute.

And I guess he followed me into the spaghetti aisle, because I smiled at him.

And I suppose I gave him my number because I was alone on a Sunday night, eating chili….ALONE. Thinking of how I may die. ALONE. Because I’m the ICE QUEEN and refuse to reciprocate any type of affection shown towards me on anything past a physical level.

I mean…I guess that’s why I gave him my number.

And I guess everything that follows is a result of my complete lack of common sense.

Rule #38 of the Female Survival Guide: When a man in a store approaches you, and he WORKS in this store, a.) he does this all the time, and b.) you’d do better to ignore his advances. If you frequent this store and he continuously hits on you, respond at your own discretion.

So Sunday night he calls…

And I will testify in court, that I am not making this dialog up.

Me: Hello?

Him: Hey wassup…It’s *BEEP* from the grocery store.

Me: Oh hey…

Him: Yeah I was happy you gave me your number

Me: Oh yeah?

Him: Yeah, cause you looked-ed real nice in the store

~pause~ this is where I begin to mentally check out of the conversation because i can't really condone a conversation with someone who uses the word “looked-ed” in all sincerity.

Me: uh huh

~silence~

Me: How old are you?

Him: 35

Me: Any kids?

Him: one

Me: I see

~silence~

Him: You should come over and chill. You can bring some cake and ice cream and we can chill out…you know? Just chillin.

Me: Got a taste for cake and ice cream huh…

Him: I got a taste for you.

Me: I see…
Well, you don’t really know me…

Him: -I mean, I didn’t mean that in a disrespectful way.

Me: … uh huh…yeah well, I’m in for the night as a matter of fact…where do you live?

Him: Capitol Heights…

Me: (noting that this is WAY too close to my own house)I see…do you live alone?

Him: No, but I mean, I got my own room…It’s real grown and sexy though…really nice…you should see it…real chill…

~pause~ no dude, as a matter of fact, it’s NOT real grown and sexy for a 35 year old man to have his own “grown and sexy room.” I swear, the way he said it gave me the impression that we couldn’t sit in the living room because “moms don’t like it when I have girls sitting on the couch.” I’m not saying that’s the case, but when you have a roommate, you don’t word it, “I got my own room”…not that i'm opposed to a guy living at home if he falls on hard times. but grown and sexy, it is not.

Me: … uh huh.

Him: You like candles?

Me: I guess-

Him: Cause I can just see you in your nice cozy home, with candles lit…relaxing…real grown and sexy like…

~silence~

Him: So where you get all that ass from? Cause I thought you looked-ed real nice when you past and then I saw that ass, like damn-

Me: Yeah. Can I call ya back?

Him: uh, yeah

Me: *dialtone*

You. Can’t. Be. Serious.

No, honestly? This is what you say to a woman? At 35? I got my own room? A real grown and sexy one? And where'd you get all that ass? Is this what's hot in the streets?

I figure, my sheer lack of enthusiasm will prevent any further calls. But oh no, he will not be swayed. He called again. Yesterday. Said he was off. Asked me what I wore to work. Then proceeded to say;

Him: What you got on sounds nice….want to know what I got on?

Me: Not really.

Him: Well it’s NOTHING.

Me: *sigh*

Him: Wondering what I’m doing, huh!

Me: I suppose you’re doing whatever it is you do, naked, on your off day, in your room.

Him: Ha ha…I’m being naughty…

Me: I have to go.

Him: Oh-

Me: *dialtone*

And now all I see when I close my eyes is a grown man, in tighty-whities, laying on his grandmother’s duvet cover, in his own room, with candles lit….you know…real grown and sexy like.

And this is the caliber of men I attract…I am sending inaudible distress signals to men who’ve been “following me” for a block, and guys with their own rooms who lie naked on their off days, in their own rooms, drinking Capri Suns and fondling their testicles…

*Swoon*

a drawback (of sorts) of being natural.

2010-01-13T02:20:00.000-08:00

i stopped getting relaxers and cut all my hair off about 5 months ago, which means i now have a head of naturally super curly/kinky hair instead of the bone straight hair i sported for my entire life practically. (<-- for those readers who don't know what a "relaxer" does...oh who am i kidding! i don't have readers!) aside from the many benefits of natural hair which include, but are not limited to stronger hair, healthier hair, and better self esteem by way of better self acceptance... there are some drawbacks, one of which, is drier hair. my hair can get drier than the Sahara. and being as though i live on this eastern sea board, old man winter is like, kicking every one's ass and taking names....which essentially makes my hair even drier.
which in turn means i have to use moisturizing products, and then essential, natural oils, to seal in that moisture, lest my hair revolt and stop speaking to me.

anywho, i went to the obgyn the other day for a pap smear...i know this doesn't seem relevant, but it'll all tie in...i think.

yeah, i went in for a pap, and you have to lay down on the table thingy with your feet in the stirrups thingy. i had a hole in my sock, and the whole time, all i kept thinking was, "i know he is staring at the hole in my sock instead of peering into and poking around my vagina, like he's suppose to, looking for God knows what...yeah...i bet that's what he's doing..." anyway, the procedure takes like 20 seconds and then he tells you to sit up and put your clothes back on and they leave the room. so i hop off the table, and turn around to put my clothes on and what do i see, but a giant, head shaped oil slick on that roll out paper they use to cover the table... "oh my GOD! did they see that!?!?" i furiously pulled at the end of the roll to clear the oil spot, and then ripped it off, and then balled it up tight, and then put it in the trash can. even though they themselves usually do this after you leave the room.

i understand the need for moisture and oil as well as the next natural. but my white, male, gynecologist probably doesn't.

i wanna piss on you

2009-08-27T13:38:00.000-07:00

Last night I had a dream that I was living in some fashion of a dorm and I kept having to leave my dorm room to use the common room bathroom. Only after I used the toilet and went back to my room, I immediately had to get up and use the toilet again. Over and over. I kept having to get up and use the loo. And in my dream I kept thinking, “how come I keep having to pee? I mean, I’ve already pee’d like 7 times? (Please note I do not know the correct spelling for the past tense of the word pee and REFUSE to take the time to look it up, so it will henceforth be referred to as pee’d, though that is so clearly wrong. It better not be something as easy as peed…)

At any rate, it finally occurred to me that I was dreaming, and I was only “dreamingly” relieving myself and I promptly woke up and went to the bathroom. It was exciting, finally getting to go and all. I didn’t piss myself, and that was even MORE exciting.

I’ll have you know I haven’t pissed myself since kindergarten. I do very much remember the day I DID piss my pants though. And I was too embarrassed to tell the teacher, so I kept my pee pants on for the rest of the day. Rode home on the school bus in them, came home and told my mom. I think she was mad. I can’t really remember what her reaction was. I do remember that instead of just taking me to the tub to clean up, she spread out newspaper, and took the washcloth to me on the floor… like I was some type of miniature terrier or something like that. it didn’t strike me as weird then, but now that I think about it, it’s definitely weird.
Thanks for tending to me as you would any beloved cocker spaniel, mom.

Today I drank 2.2 liters of water. In the span of 6 hours. I’ve gone to the restroom a total of 8 times. This last time was a doozy. I seemed to be peeing forever. And just when I thought it was over? Mo’ peein’. It was surreal for a moment. It definitely didn’t feel real. I thought, “what if you weren’t really in the bathroom right now, dude… what if you’re actually like, at your desk. Asleep.”

Thankfully I was not. But I can’t shake the feeling that my body wants to piss itself...

And not in a “sexy” fetish way. In a horrible accident way in which your supervisor must put newspaper down on the floor in the middle of a staff meeting.

Defense Tactic Number 1

2009-07-16T04:26:00.001-07:00

If you’re a female, you must understand me on this; at certain times in your life, you learn that it is necessary to develop a “don’t even think about it scowl” that you use, not on people you know, but on perfect strangers. And you use this “don’t even think about it scowl” because if you went about your day, happily smiling and giving a “how do you do!” to everyone you meet, sure you might receive pleasantries in return, but in many cases, that fresh faced naivety could get you in trouble.

PARTICULARLY in the case of walking past groups of men. I can only speak from my personal experiences growing up in “the hood” or some by product of it, but young boys, old men, it doesn’t matter… walk past them enough times and you know the drill…

“aye ma!”
“excuse me miss”
“you got a man?”
“you fine than a mutha…”
“oh you can’t speak?”
“well FUCK YOU THEN, BITCH!”

The list goes on and on. It’s important to note that whether you smile or frown, the same men that “holla” at every woman they see pass, will STILL “holla” at you. But it’s just something about a mean countenance…it’s like your coat of armor. It’s may very well be your only protection against the wolves (you know, if you don’t carry mace like I do…) Worst case scenario, you get called a bitch…usually that’s the worst case scenario. Best case scenario? They don’t even bother speaking to you because you LOOK like a bitch. But if you go around with that big ole, fresh faced, sweet looking smile all the time? Best case scenario, every man you past will think you have the hots for him. Worst case scenario? You might get robbed.

Still, when I walked down the block to my car yesterday, and passed the two young men to my left, I didn’t expect to hear, “damn, she look mean as a muthafucka…” from behind me as our paths crossed…

Do I look “mean as a muthafucak”? Is that my normal expression? In all honestly, the look wasn’t intended for them. I was too busy scanning the crowd of 5 or 6 men, one block up, huddled in front of the dilapidated apartment building I had to pass to get to my car. Maybe subconsciously I was thinking, “time to get your game face on” … but it certainly wasn’t intentional.

I’m telling you, it made me so HYPER-aware of my face that I purposely smiled the rest of the walk home… And no one bothered me. Least ways, not any more than they would have had I not been smiling.

Hmph…maybe I got this whole “scowl to avoid getting your purse snatched” theory all wrong…

a girl's best friend

2009-06-09T07:00:00.000-07:00

(written 10/18/07)

i think her name is miss. kittles.

or if it's a boy, his name is probably henry.

i don't know. he isn't even my cat. he's a stray cat. there are tons of stray cats that hang out in my neighborhood. loafing about on the corners, doing a bunch of nothing. they're like teenagers that way. except they actually move out the way when they see you coming. generally their presence doesn't bother me. they go their way. i go mine.

but miss kittles (or henry as he might be) is different. one night he practically got in the car with me. here i am walking to the parking lot around the back of the building, and henry's (or miss.kittles as she might be) little self is prancing behind me. lightfoot is what i would call him. he's very light on his feet....even for a cat, he is abnormally light on his feet. anyway, another night i come home, and she's sat her little behind squarely in front of the building door. and she looks up at me with the cutest puppy dog eyes (which is ironic because she's a cat) as if to say,

"can i come home with you?"

i swear i would. i swear i would have taken him in a long time ago. but my place...it's just too small. literally, there is no place for a litter box. and i'm not even sure she'd be happy in my house. she's an outdoor cat. it may take the spirit out of her to be confined every day.

this morning, i'm late for work because i bought a can of cat food from CVS yesterday in hopes that i would get the opportunity to feed him. he ate it in two seconds flat. gobbled it down.

i think, i'm kind of in love with him (or her). but i don't dare touch him. as much as i'm fond of his directness and fearless nature. he is a stray. he lives in sewers for all i know. and though he's walked right up to me on more than one occasion, he's never crossed the boundary of entwining his body around my ankles, the way cats do when they trust you. ours is a distant fondness.

this blog really has nothing to do with the cat.

today, i came home feeling more hurt than i had in a long while. more hurt than when i got picked last to be on the neighborhood dance team. more hurt than when that girl in college called me fat. more hurt than when he told me he just wanted to be "friends". it is a different kind of betrayal. when you feel your best friend is being dishonest. maybe i am being a bit much. maybe not. but i came home feeling...the only thing i could call it would be hurt.

and when i went to the porch to smoke the cigarette that accidentally broke (because i probably didn't need to be smoking it anyway), henry (or miss kittles) came up to me, right up to my lap, and put his little paw on my thigh and let me pet him. and he didn't feel icky or dirty or mangy.

he felt like he understood.

the love boat...

2009-06-08T09:13:00.000-07:00

Let me preface this by saying, I don’t normally blog DIRECTLY about myself as it pertains to relationships because one, there will forever be written proof of something I said, and two, I’m usually too embarrassed to show the internet-verse what a fool for love I can be.

And yet,

I’m about to relay some of the dumbest shit I’ve done in a long time, fully aware that someone could read this and tell me how dumb I am and then I’ll get mad and think, “well who asked you, bitch!” and then the universe will say, “well who’s the dumb bitch who put it out there?” and I’ll be all, “touché universe, touché…”

I sometimes blog about a certain someone otherwise known as “the dude I occasionally kiss in the mouth with tongue” and it’s safe to say we have been in a semi-relationship for about 2 years. Semi in the sense that the first six month was mostly a lengthy game of chase (me being the chasee and him the chaser), and the last 6 months being mostly an exercise in SCENES FROM MY PARENTS MARRIAGE, which let’s face it, is shaky at best.

But for that solid year in the middle? this dude had pretty much become my best friend and total partner in crime and we found ourselves, enjoying so many days together, that we thought; Hey, maybe we’re like, totally in a relationship?

And we just generally basked in each other’s company and did fun things and talked and kissed and shared joy and sadness and everything, with each other. And it seemed for awhile at least, that it was destined to be…

Only now, it seems to me that when I finally gave him what he wanted, he suddenly didn’t want it anymore. This is the way of EVERY CREATURE ON EARTH, understandable. But I have to say, I am more than confused as to what exactly has happened to us. For the last few months, PARTICULARLY the last two, we fight pretty much every 5th day, like clockwork. We can normally work it out in a 24 to 48 hour window so as to have an adequate amount of time to get in things like cooking together, watching our favorite shows, telling each other “no YOU’RE the best!” and boning before we inevitably have another MELTDOWN over someone leaving shoes in the middle of the floor. ß we do NOT live together by the way.

But when I say its has gotten bad, I mean just really mean and spiteful arguments that neither of us see coming, or not how to stop. Still, we manage to get past them and get back on track and I just wanted, so much for us to get over this hump we’ve hit and move on to calm seas again…

At any rate, me in my INFINITE WISDOM went out and did a foolish, foolish thing. My sister is taking her significant other on a quick birthday cruise to the Bahamas and when she told me, all I could hear was my faithful lover, the deep blue sea, calling me home. So I decided to ask the dude I occasionally kiss in the mouth with tongue, to go too. And even though he wanted to plan his own trip for us, and even though he told me he didn’t have it to go on such short notice, ME IN MY INFINITE WISDOM thought that it would be so much better to just book this one now, and we could have our first vacay away together under our belts. So I went ahead and booked the trip, telling him to pay me later and stop looking at me like that. (I’M SPEAKING TO YOU, THE PERSON READING THIS. STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT.)

Aaaaannnnndddd like clockwork, we argued again, after said INFINITE WISDOM took momentary control of my impulse system. And this argument pretty much turned into the Fred Samford Elizabeth-I’m-Coming-To-Join-You type deals where we pretty much deaded the whole entire 2 year exercise in how-to-drive-yourself-nuts-by-trying-to-partner-yourself-with-another-human-being.

Only we said originally, we were both going on this trip. We joked, “whether we’re together or not!”

But are we both going? Correction, I’m going REGARDLESS, but is he? Will I ever get that money back?

And more importantly, how come I can’t make it work with a guy who carved a nice little spot out of my heart and sat his bags down and decided to stay awhile? What went wrong? What exactly is this love stuff made up of?

Oh well…I guess it’ll just be me and my sister and her future fiancé on our romantic getaway to the Bahamas…them, making googaly eyes at each other and me, crying into my paperback copy of waiting to exhale, drinking rum and coke and foolhardily kissing some foreigner in the mouth who’ll eventually turn out to be gay.

At least I’ll come back with a tan.

Love sucks monkey dick.

fun ways to waste your income tax return...

2009-05-20T13:36:00.000-07:00

So I’ve been on this “natural” kick lately...well, let’s all cross our fingers and hope it’s more than a “kick”…

At any rate, I’ve quickly become one of those people who HATE LAUREL SULFATES….EVIL, EVIL, NASTY SULFATES THAT ARE IN ALL OF YOUR SHAMPOOS AND YOUR SOAPS! I thought they were just a cleaning agent. A good thing, no?

But now that I’m a part of the NATURAL COALIATION AGAINST ALL THINGS MAN MADE, I’ve come to see Laurel Sulfates as less of a strong cleaning agent and more of a vampire-like soul sucker, stripping your hair and body of all moisture. In addition to being a harsh detergent, Laurel Sulfates also:

· Rot your teeth
· Hide under your bed at night in the dark
· Carjack old people
· May possibly steal your boyfriend

…

Maybe they aren’t that bad. But those natural hair care sites sure make them sound that way.

This blog isn’t actually about laurel sulfates.

It’s about my new found addiction to buying any and all things natural off the internet.

I found a site that sold this good-good for your soap with no EVIL NASTY LAUREL SULFATES, full of good, good cocoa butters and natural oils and what not and *BONUS* the soap included milk chocolate an hazelnuts! That’s got to be good right? Don’t really rich people who can wipe their asses with hundred dollar bills go to spas to bathe in baths containing nothing but chocolate? It’s got to be good, right?

So it get my soap and it’s a bit more…chocately than I expected…like seriously dude. It looks like a chocolate bar. And it smells like a coffee house...

Still, I paid $20 for 6 bars…I’M USING THIS.

I step into the shower and lather up my wash cloth and…it was kind of like…my wash cloth looked like I had explosive diarrhea or something…seriously. Everything was brown. The wash cloth got brown. The soap bubbles on my skin were brown. The water cascading off my body was brown.

It looked like a scene from your worst nightmare. A pleasantly smelling dream in which you fall headfirst in a pool of explosive diarrhea and have to run home to clean it off your body, only to find that all your soap is mysteriously made of doo doo, and no matter how hard you try, everything in your life turns to shit....

Me and my 100% natural, 100% edible, shitty shower soap...what a pair we make!

I nicely put it back in the box and used my regular soap, full of nasty, nasty sulfates that probably call me fat behind my back.

things my mother told me that i wish i'd listened to:

2009-05-20T13:34:00.000-07:00

I shouldn’t have spoken slang so much, even though I knew the right words to say and claimed to be able to switch my vocabulary when the situation called for it. I hear myself sometimes speaking in the familiar to people I should not speak that way with and I find that it is a hard habit to break.

She always told me I was pretty, but I didn’t believe it because she was my mother and she HAD to say that. If I had believed it then, it would be easier to believe it now.

She told me I had the cutest shape but if I did not watch what I ate, one day it would catch up with me. I thought I’d have a flat stomach forever so even though I was active, I ate whatever I wanted. Now I have a fat stomach and a food addiction.

My mama always said, “Stop over arching your eyebrows to be so thin! You have beautiful thick eyebrows that I wish I had…” but thin, was in. So I tweezed and waxed and plucked. Now thick eyebrows are in and mine won’t grow back.

Sometimes, your mother really IS right…

Happy to be Nappy?

2009-04-27T07:15:00.000-07:00

Source

The thought just occurred to me randomly a month ago that I should go natural. It occurred as easily as “I should have cornflakes for breakfast…” Without little thought or fear or sensitivity.

The next day, I searched online for information, tips, advice and was OVERWHELMED by the idea of it all. The blogs, the photo journeys on Fotki, the youtube videos. All of a sudden the idea of it sounded a lot less like, “I should have cornflakes for breakfast…” and a lot more like, “I should move to Guam and raise free range chickens for the rest of my life.”

I have no clue why a month ago, I thought this would be some easy decision. I think that I just thought… I thought that for so long, I have not liked “me”. All my life in fact. Which is random because my friends tell me they like me, and my parents like me, and my sister likes me, and the dude I’m currently kissing in the mouth with tongue likes me, even strangers sometimes like me. But for as long as I can remember, I haven’t liked me most days. I’m too this. I’m not enough that. I should be more here and less there. I’m a fraud. I’m not who I portray. I’m a loser. As an adult you start to kind of smack yourself in the face as if to say, WAKE UP! WHY DO YOU NOT LIKE YOURSELF! WHAT IS THE BIG FLIPPING DEAL THAT MAKES YOU CONSTANTLY DEGRADE YOU!

I’ll probably spend tons in therapy trying to figure that out one day. At any rate, I am trying my best to learn to like me more. And one of those journeys just naturally begins (for me at least) with hair. I like relaxed hair, don’t get me wrong. I’ve had relaxed hair forever. I’ve always thought long, healthy, flowy hair was pretty. But I’ve come to realize that beyond me thinking that relaxed hair is pretty, I now think that I’m UGLY without it. My mom pressed my hair when I was really young and gave me my first relaxer probably when I was 7 or so. I believe she has always felt that “relaxed hair” was nicer than natural hair. So it’s just the way I was brought up. But now I feel like, well what’s so wrong with my own hair? What’s so wrong with letting it just be how God purposed it to grow out my head? I feel like I felt it was “wrong” somehow so I needed a relaxer to “fix” it, or tame it, or something like that. But maybe it’s not supposed to be tamed?

And the more I had these thoughts and the more pictures I found of beautiful, gorgeous, curly, coily afro-ed BIG HAIR, the more I just fell in love with it. I don’t even know what MY REAL hair really looks like. But I feel ready to find out. And hopefully grow more of an appreciation for ME.

And I guess all that would be okay, if I weren’t so shallow, but I am. The sad fact of it is, (and brace yourself here folks):

I care what other people think.

I know, how very “Hollywood” of me. More importantly, I care what MEN think. And the biggest fear I have of going natural is that men will find me unattractive. Because I don’t have the OVERTLY FEMININE FACE and PETTITE FRAME I see on some of these naturals to pull off such a non-European hairstyle. One person said because of my boxy frame, I’d look “like a dyke.” When I casually mentioned going natural to my mom, she said, “Eww!” And when I told my coworker, she said, “well just take into consideration the fact that you have a large head.”

Oh noooo! That didn’t knock my confidence down A BIT!

I told my guy friend that I sometimes kiss in the mouth with, that I was thinking of going natural. And he said, “Like not getting perms anymore?” And I said, “Yeah.” And he said something that made me want to smack him in the mouth, I don’t remember what. But I didn’t. Mainly I was quiet. Then I said, “So what? You’re not going to want to date me if I do this?” To which he replied, “No, that’s dumb. Not date you for what? It’s your hair, do you what you want. If I only wanted to date you based on hair, that’d be pretty shallow.”

He’s tricky. He said that because he wanted me to let him in the house. I know men. He thinks I’m going to going to like, stop shaving my pits, and only buy organic, and move to a commune or something like that. He’s scared I’m going to get “too ethnic” to be able to have a conversation without bringing up genocide. It wasn’t in what he said. It was in what he didn’t say.

I’m not trying to make some huge political statement or anything. I’m just tired of buying into a “European” standard of what everyone should look like/dress like/be like and I have finally come to grips with the fact that I like natural hair better. But I’m bothered by the fact that everyone else doesn’t. I’m also scared it won’t work “for me” and instead of a beautifully blown out, curly, coily fro, I’ll look freakish. And no man will want me except some dude who wears dashikis and burns incense and doesn’t eat pork and that’s the exact stereotype I’m trying to fight, yet I still subscribe to it.

A fcuking shame. I’m mad that at 29 years old, I still care what other people think. There are much more pressing issues in the world, hell there are much more pressing issues in my LIFE, than to perm or not to perm.

Still, this is kind of a big deal.

2 weeks since last relaxer. Here I go...

Every random thing I could ever possibly say about myself...

2009-03-05T05:31:00.000-08:00

I wrote this list of 100 things about me back in May of 2008, so i figured it'd be a great post for my introduction to blogger...you may fall asleep half way through. Hell, i fell asleep halfway through...it's 100 things for pete's sake.

Still, i think i'm pretty interesting, so enjoy. If you want to read one of the HUNDREDS of blogs i've written, check me out here http://blog.myspace.com/bonitamg.

So here we go...

1. i have a phobia of my feet touching things; bare floors, dust, dirty bath mats. when i was in college, i used to set my flip flops right outside the bathroom door so when i got out the shower, i could step right in. one time my roommates played a joke and hid them from me. i didn't speak to them for 3 days.

2. i may be a paranoid schizophrenic, or i have a really bad case of hypochondria. i always assume i’m dying and as such, i have wracked up tons of emergency room debt for them to tell me i’m absolutely fine. $100 a pop too. And i used to go, CONSTANTLY.

3. i hate getting in the shower in the morning because i’m a procrastinator. i have been known to clean the refrigerator, paint my toenails, rearrange my sock drawer and dust furniture before i get in the shower for work...i think i just hate going to work.

4. i only drink half cups of anything. Meaning, when i pour myself a cup of juice, I only pour half a cup. Then I go back and pour more halves until I’m no longer thirsty. i have done this all my life. Whenever i get my company a drink, they say, "...So I only get this half a cup?" And i always look at them with this confused look because i don't understand the logic of a WHOLE cup of anything.

5. i had a really artistic eye, even in kindergarten. i remember looking at classmates drawings of their houses and i’d think, "Where is their porch light? and their bracket for their house number? And how come they colored their clouds blue? clouds are white and sky is blue. they're so lame."

6. i have a slight addiction to kettle corn and kit kats, eaten together.

7. i have a slight addiction to the "idea" of academia. Buying school supplies and book bags, going to class and taking out my pen to take notes, beginning to read a chapter for school. of course doing the actual work is a drag, i was horrid at test taking, and pretty much used anything as an excuse to skip class, but i am in love with the "idea" of school.

8. i am always early for everything. appointments, church, dates, etc. i would rather be two hours early than 2 minutes late. (which means i have to alot an extra hour in the morning, on a count of my procrastination routine...)

9. i have a hair-dresser phobia. every time i’ve gone i’ve had a bad cut, bad die job, etc. i don’t trust ‘em. maybe i just have bad luck with them. but the whole experience has turned me off of hair dressers in general. i just do my own. if i’m not going to like it, at least i only have me to blame.

10. i’ve had a girl crush on Kerry Washington ever since i saw the movie "Lift".

11. i try not to be superstitious because i think belief in that stuff makes it real. but i do throw salt over my left shoulder when i spill it.

12. i can not handle scary movies. even watching them during the day with all the lights on. inevitably at night, i get scared and have to sleep with my tv and nightlight on with the closet door closed. my electric went up stupid high after i saw the ring.

13. i think braces are sexy. i have no clue why. when i was a kid, I used to put foil on my teeth and pretend i had braces. i still think braces are sexy…but now that i think i may NEED them, i don’t want them.

14. i have really big feet even though i’m only 5’4”. i have a hard time finding shoes. even then, i’m more self conscious about my huge hands.

15. i have a slightly big frame for a female. my mom’s side of the family are gargantuans…except my great granddad, who was 5’4”…hence my height.

16. even with all the parts i am self conscious about, i still think that put together, i have a killer bod.

17. i draw and paint. I used to consider myself good. but i don’t practice and hadn’t drawn anything serious in years and when i sit down to try now, i’m so not inspired and everything looks like crap to me.

18. i love design and really want to be an interior designer when i grow up.

19. even though i’m 28, i still don’t think i’m “grown up” yet.

20. i was afraid to admit for a long time that i only went to college for information systems because my parents thought it was a “safe” field and i heard my sister talk about it a lot. i really wanted to go for art. but my parents didn’t know how you’d make money as an artist and i didn’t either. i’m not sure they ever said it in those words, but they made it clear what was and was not a REAL job.

21. i enjoy my career in IT right now because i’ve learned a lot and it afforded me to pay for every major purchase in my life including my car and my condo. still, there isn’t a day that goes by where i didn’t wish i took the road less traveled.

22. i plan on going back to school for interior design in October.

23. i am up to my eyeballs in SERIOUS tuition debt. and scared like hell to take on more. but i have this resounding sense that “Jesus Can Work it Out”.

24. every time time i’m scared or upset, i listen to Jesus can work it out and i feel better.

25. this past year, i have had my first “crisis of faith” and totally questioned everything i’ve been taught about religion and God and Jesus. some days i’m scared to admit this to myself because i don’t want to burn in hell.

26. yes, i am catholic and yes, catholic school girl ARE easy.

27. i actually think most girls period are easy.

28. i am obsessed with a beauty mark on the inside bridge of my nose.

29. i can only date guys 30 years old or older.

30. i am really funny. like super funny. but most people wouldn’t know it.

31. i am super shy when i don’t know folks or first meet them. almost to the point of being phobic. but i have learned to “force” myself into these uncomfortable situations because i don’t want to be crippled by it.

32. i am not one of those women who say, “i don’t care what other people think about me!” though i long to be one of those type of women. sadly, i do care, way too much, what other people think of me.

33. i have this weird balance of total self consciousness and lack of confidence in myself and total vanity and belief that i am smarter, funnier, prettier and just generally BETTER than a lot of people. it is the oddest dichotomy in a person i have ever seen.

34. i hate high heels with a fiery passion because they hurt my feet after about 5 minutes. i still buy heels every chance i get because they are sexy and i keep thinking that ONE DAY i will be able to tolerate them.

35. when i was little, i fell down 13 steps and hit my head hard on the floor. i really think i haven’t been right since, but i can’t tell because i was around 3 years-old and i don’t have any memories of me before that day.

36. i am more like my father than my mother and get along with him better than i do my mom, though i love them both to death equally.

37. i look just like my mother.

38. i act just like my father.

39. i can’t get through a sentence without cussing, i love to fornicate and drink, and can be one just pure mean at times. but i am HIGHLY SKILLED at hiding this side of my personality.

40. i am very sensitive to others plight and have this attraction to folks who need help and a deep yearning to help them. i read that all Aquarians are humanitarians and feel this way. at the same time, they can be very emotionally detached and have a hard time showing their true feelings…but shit, ain’t that everybody?

41. i thank God, often, that He made me with a good sense of humor and a lot of common sense. i see sooo many folks without either and i wonder do they like their lives.

42. i like rock music. a lot. i’m no rock connoisseur, but i have certain groups i like, and i listen to them more than rap or r&b.

43. i grew up in a what some might consider "the ghetto", in a typical lower-middle class African American household, went to ALL black schools from kindergarten until college and didn’t meet a white person (besides my high school teachers) until i was 19. still, a lot of my friends say i’m the “whitest” black girl that know…because i like rock, wanted a mo-hawk before Mohawks were cool for black people and hate black movies.

44. when i say i hate black movies, i mean big mamma’s house, blue streak, norbit, anything with Gabrielle union because she plays the same stupid role in every fucking movie. i’m not sure if that makes me a traitor to my race. but i HATE those types of movies.

45. i like weird indie flick movies and super hero/comic movies, and action movies and drama movies and chic flicks, and i absolutely LOVE period pieces.

46. pride and prejudice with keira knightly is one of my most favorite movies. classic.

47. i am obsessed with my weight, or rather, how large i’ve become. if i talked about it HALF as much as i thought about it, i would have no friends and probably be committed to a psych ward.

48. i thought for a long time, that my stuffed animals came alive at night and talked. i’m talking into adulthood that i thought this.

49. i have this thing about crying in front of people. for me, i see crying as the ultimate form of weakness. it is fine for other people to cry. but not for me. i usually try and cry alone in the bathroom with the door closed. i know it’s weird cause how can you plan a cry. if i feel myself about to cry at work or out in public, i immediately try and think of something different. i get panicked almost. i do not like to be viewed as “weak” even though the only person who has ascribed this description to crying is me really.

50. i have this thing about putting up a tough exterior or a humorous one. but those are the only two ways i think most folks view me as; mean or funny. i try hard to keep it this way for some reason.

51. i think i’m this really friendly person…i mean, friendships are really important to me. and i want to be friends with just about every female i meet. but because of my shyness, that doesn’t always happen.

52. i have never been one of those females that's a "mean" girl... you know, the really clickish type... okay, let me rephrase. everyone is clickish, sort of by default. but i don't like being part of "hateration" on another female. usually when a lot of females pick on one, i feel bad for that person and try and think of ways i can befriend them. oh, i probably hate of some females too. but it’s more of an internal thing than a voiced thing. and then i always try and tell myself, “you don’t know that woman. and if you are jealous of something she’s got that you don’t, that sounds like an internal problem.”

53. i still make fun of people sometimes.

54. i am the worlds best grudge holder/ silent treatment giver.

55. i make some mean pancakes from scratch. i’m talking MEAN.

56. as long as they are clean, i have no problem with feet. one of the last guys i dated always said his feet hurt after work an i’d give him foot rubs. i kinda think he fell in love with me after that.

57. though i’ve told several men i was dating i loved them, i think i was only in love once. i was 16 and he was my high school boyfriend. and i don’t think i’ve ever felt any feeling of love as pure as the feeling of love i felt for him.

58. i’ve worked “techie” jobs since 1999. but i don’t know that i would consider myself a “techie”.
59. i am still afraid of my parents; i am a grown woman who pays her own bills, lives in her own home, and drives her own car, all by the money in MY pocket. but i STILL would never want them to know i let “boys sleep over.” that is unacceptable.

60. i grew up in a very strict household in my opinion. not so much on what i wore or how i did my hair. but more so on going out and boys. i was not allowed to go to most of the cool parties i wanted to go to in dc. i was not allowed to go to the go-go and only went once i was in college. my parents would allow me to see my “boyfriend” but it had to be during the day if i was going to his house and i had to be dropped off and picked up.

61. i think my strict upbringing contributed to the fact that i was totally out of control by the age of 13.

62. i lost my virginity at a young age and didn’t wish until quite recently that i could take it back.

63. i am and have always been outdoorsy and don’t mind walking long distances (in comfortable shoes) and sitting on the grass and what not.

64. though i’m outdoorsy, i hate heat. H.A.T.E. IT! i can not stand it. i don’t think my body processes high temperatures like a normal person does. i get irritable and cranky. i sweat profusely. my nose starts to bleed and i feel sick. i can not handle heat. i’m serious about this.

65. i’m almost never cold. even i the dead of winter, i will keep my window’s cracked.

66. i didn’t like tea until 4 months ago when my sister made me drink some. even then, i can only tolerate it with an obscene amount of lemon wedges and two scoops of sugar. but taken that way? tea is DELICOUS!

67. i am famous for saying i hate foods i’ve never even tried before.

68. i get jealous of people who have really cool, really open and honest relationships with their moms because i do not have that and more than likely, never will.

69. i am addicted to LOST. addicted is not a strong enough word. obsessed would be more like it. but while i’m obsessed with finding out the secrets of the show, i get PISSED when people send me to conspiracy theory sites that try and break it down because the best part of the show to me is that it never fails to surprise me. and i HATE to know a surprise before it is revealed!

70. i was very awkward growing up. skinny. big feet. bad acne. goofy. a clutz. as i started to grow out of it, i become…something else. i liked to think of myself as a sex symbol for a long while. and then, as other things in my life made me start to lose confidence in myself (and i don’t just mean weight gain) i have again become…something else. i’m not sure what. underneath it all, i still feel like an awkward, girl.

71. my feelings are TOO easily hurt, and i work very hard at hiding that so as to not look silly and childish. but i’m telling you, my feelings are hurt at the drop of a hat at the most silliest of things. i have wished for years to have tougher skin.

72. my longest relationship with a man was 3 years. my mother still wishes i would marry him. i’m still glad i hadn’t.

73. my biggest pet peeve on this earth, is folks trying to get over on me or treat me like i’m dumb. pet peeve is not the right word. it infuriates me to the point of feeling like i want to commit murder. i think it’s very unnatural to get THAT upset over something that people do everyday. but there it is. if i suspect you are doing that to me, trying to play me for a fool like i’m some idiot? i will more than likely curse you out, try and fight you, plot your demise, or never speak to you again…or at least for as long as i can stand until you make it right or i get “un-mad” which takes awhile for me to do.

74. i discovered what good sex was when i was 23 with this guy who shall remain nameless and i did not think it would ever be better than that. of course i was TOTALLY smitten, and more into him than he was into me, i think. he moved and then i didn’t worry about him so much. since then, i’ve had one other lover that made me feel like i felt with him, if not better, in bed. it’s hard to shake good lovers out of your system. it’s like they get in your gut and stuck under your fingernails.

75. sometimes, i get scared i won’t ever want children. i’ve never been preggars before and most of my peers are on their second child right now, or at least have one. the longer i go without, the more i feel like i could continue to go without. but that scares me because i have always wanted to WANT to have children. but it has not happened for me yet…that wanting feeling.

76. because i have neither children, nor any younger siblings, i can be extremely selfish.

77. i am, quite simply put, a very freaky girl. i won’t go into all the tawdry details on the internet and even this is probably saying too much (for me at least) but if you know what i mean? consider yourself lucky, my friend.

78. this list aside, i am normally a very private person and even my closest friends may sometimes say they really don’t know a lot about me.

79. my college was full of a ton of white folks, mostly who didn’t know a thing about me because i didn’t bar hop (back then) and i’m shy so i didn’t make a lot of friends in class. aside from being on the step team, i was one of a ton of other “unknowns” …and i STILL MADE THE LIST FOR FUNNIEST FEMALE….which lets me know, i’m pretty damn funny. i don’t mean to toot my own horn but….TOOT TOOT MUTHAFUCKAS’! (put that in your pipe and smoke it, Oprah!)

80. i hate pantyhose. i have never had a job that required me to wear them. i only wore them as a kid in the winter to church because my mom made me. stockings make me itch. dress up clothes period make me itch. one of the reasons i am, in my mind, a perpetual kid.

81. i collect piggy banks. but currently, i only have 4.

82. i am obsessed with food. seriously, i think i really have an addiction to food. i always want to eat. and have you ever seen someone who just looks like they are REALLY enjoying their food? like they are in heaven? that’s me.

83. my current dream is to live on a corner house on capitol hill with a uniquely big (for Washington dc) back yard and upgraded appliances throughout within walking distance of the market. living in a place like that would be MY idea of heaven right now.

84. i am a city girl in my heart and i can not see myself ever not wanting to live that life, even when i get married and have kids.

85. i have never understood the mentality of astronauts. i mean, how can you be that? to be able to be millions of miles from earth and look at it from above? knowing all the killing, stealing, love making, fighting, kissing, cooking, running, planning, sleeping, crying, singing, dancing, eating, living, and dying that is going on, on what seems to be a HUGE planet when you’re living on it, and being removed from it in a enormous way? it would scare me to ever be able to see how small we really all are. i don’t understand how you have that job at all. that job is not for me.

86. i like sitting on, laying on, and rolling around on floors, even though i know they are really dirty.

87. i love dogs. in a way most people don’t understand. but i’ve never had a dog.

88. when i was young, i wanted to be a movie star. i still think i would be really good at acting.

89. i always have this gut feeling that i’m supposed to do something…more with my life. like more than “normal” whatever that means. but i can’t quite put my finger one what.

90. i like cloudy days just as much as i like sunny days.

91. if there is such a thing as re-incarnation, i’d like to come back as a model.

92. your wing span (length of outstretched arms from finger tip to finger tip) is supposed to be the same as your height. mine is almost two inches longer. i have freakishly long arms….i mean, not detectable. but in my head, i know it. my coworker called me a caveman.

93. as i grow older, i’m starting not to like “church” people. like really “churchy” folks. and i don’t mean to sound blasphemous or make it sound like it’s something wrong with loving the Lord because it’s not. but i don’t like folks who think everything is wrong with society as a whole, and are very limited in their thinking and won’t go certain places because “wordly things” are going to be going on there, and only go to church functions, and church meetings, and church bowling nights, and church discos, and only listen to gospel music, and get all excited when THEIR pastor is speaking at such and so convention center, and thrive off this holier than thou attitude. i always have the feeling that their devotion is less about God and more about the fact that they have no life. so they’ve chosen church as a “click.” i don’t think you should use God as a substitute for having a life. church should not be your crutch.

94. i am obsessed with the television show, buffy the vampire slayer. it is no longer on air. but it was the funniest, saddest, most touching, most clever, most well written show to ever be on television. period. i hate when people think of the cheesy movie and assume the show is only for teenaged white girls or something inane like that. it was the BEST show ever. every time i need an answer, i always ask, “what would buffy do?” then i ask what would Jesus do. usually the two coincide.

95. i have a really bad memory when it comes to most things. but others, i can tell you verbatim. my friend asked me about a conversation we had the other day and i told him i couldn’t remember. and he said, “if it had been something i did wrong, you would have remembered that shit word for word.” and i said, “oh, i’m only good at remembering things i can later use against you.” i really do think that’s true.

96. i am a really bad speller. this list is more than likely full of typo’s because i spell bad and type fast.

97. i don’t like eggs. not in any way shape or form. scrambled. deviled. over easy. i just hate them. they skeeve me out.

98. i like when men wink at me. it is one of the cutest things ever to me. i turns me on. like seriously.

99. i am still naïve enough to think a hug solves everything that’s wrong…or maybe not that naïve. but it sure makes you feel for a little bit, that you’re not alone.

100. with all my faults, i sometimes wonder why i have friends and lovers…then i remember how fucking awesome i am. and it all makes sense.