Monday, April 23, 2012

I had a dream (not about MLK)

What do you want to be when you grow up? Remember that question? At what age do you realize that is the scariest question in the world? Well I am 34 and it just hit me. Let me tell you a story...hey where you going?! This is not going to be one of my long posts. For sit down and listen...

So a co-worker and I were chatting about her 9 year old son and a question he asked his aunt. He innocently asked, "Auntie when you were a kid, what was your dream" she replied "I wanted to move to New York and become a writer". He asked her what happened. She said I have a baby and then life. He reminded her that her baby was now an adult so what was stopping her and she couldn't answer him. How do you tell a 9 year that my dream got sucked outta me and now I am just living and trying to make it the best life I possibly can even though...

Hell I didn't even try to live my dream so I don't know if I would have made it or not (that is another story for another time and some brown liquor). This is scary to me. That one day my nephew will ask me what my dream was when I was a child and then...what happened.

Yeah that's all I got.

Oh what maybe I will say when I was a kid I had one dream but as I grew up my dreams changed and as I accomplished each dream...more dreams were created <---haha see what I did there.

Night yall and sweet dreams

Stop the insanity

Black women are afraid to work out because they don't want to sweat their hair out. . Bigger women are more excepted.They are lazy.

Whoever keeps saying this mess needs to stop but more important- shuddup. Obviously people who say this have never served in the Armed Forces, played sports, or gone to the gym- we in there! We are also walking in the parks, running on trails, and even in yoga classes (some brave ones are in the hot yoga class).

Look does it irk me that since I have cut my hair that a ponytail is no longer an option so I have to wear a scarf while working out because I want my hair to be bearable the next day (and I get dirty looks from people)...yes? But you know what else irks me- my pants not fitting. My blood pressure going up. Wheezing walking up a flight (a. flight.) of stairs. So if I weigh my is more important than sweating my hair out.

Sweat is your fat crying and I give mine a good cry at least three times a week.

Do I forego a work out sometimes because of my hair...yes (again it's short and I sweat like a hooker-in church-and her main client is the preacher and the head deacon). But as a woman of color, that does work out and knows many other women of color that work out it can be a hard pill to swallow when all you hear is that we don't. There will always be those that don't work out (or feel they don't need to) but they are not the battle cry for ALL of us. Give me a good mix of music pumping through my headphones and I can give you 2 maybe even 3 miles. Put someone entertaining or motivating in front of me and I can give you 45 mins of a class. I also know many women that work out with Shawn T (I can't get passed his voice-sorry) -is that Insanity or P90x- either way...they getting it in.

Stop lumping, clumping, and dumping on us...our thighs are already in charge of that (and doing a real good job).

Peace, Blessings, and Sweat!

Monday, April 16, 2012

Party Rocking

So this past weekend I did something I haven't done in about two years (no not have sex-lol)...I went to the club. Not a bar...but an actual club. I came to the realization that despite what I previously believed and tell people, the reason I don't club has nothing to do with my's because I didn't graduate from my anger management course <--I will hit on that later.

Let me give you a back story, so the Army is like college, the Real World, and Jersey Shore all rolled up into a job and a paycheck every two weeks. We partied all the time. Wednesday night- Happy Hour (at one place). Thursday night- Happy Hour (at another place). Friday- partying in the barracks or someone's house. Saturday- CLUB! And on Sunday we are in rehab; drinking plenty of water to prepare for PT in the morning and repair damage we caused. Awww...good times. Around 27 I think, I got into bars. I like bars. You can get a waitress and you can have a real conversation. You aren't screaming over the music and nodding like you hear what the other person is saying...when really- you don't.

So I got the offer to hang out and I was like wow, sure. I mean I hadn't been out in a minute so I was game. Yeah someone actually wants to hang out with meeeeeeee!

Let me just say that the club...has changed. Oh where to start. So when I used to club you either work a spanx worthy dress or a low cut top and some jeans. Top off with cute shoes. Now, oh no the attire is as diverse as the crowd. I know I saw some bridesmaids dresses up in there (I am an avid watcher of Say Yes to the Dress). Now granted there was what looked like a bridal party in there but other than them...I saw some SYTTD-Bridesmaids dresses. I saw very uncomfortable looking shorts, cargo pants, sun dresses, some Kardashian type dresses...and a security guard with button back pockets. I felt the need to talk about these pockets are dudes wearing jeans like this? I mean hey can you chase someone down with them tight ass jeans on? And are dudes wearing jeans with button back pockets? No really?

What hasn't changed is dudes and the lame ways they try to cop a feel. Now look, I have done a whole bunch of groping in the club. You walk past a guy and turn to face his massive chest and act like the only way you can get past him is to feel ALL UP on that massive chest "oh excuse me, excuse me". I have felt up backs and yes some fronts but these guys were willing participants. So when the drunk guy with the loosey goosey hands started making his way around I'm like fool I see you and what you are doing. And then he makes his way in my personal space and what does he do, touch my pretty round mound. Now while I wanted to step on his foot with my heels...I didn't. I did grab His butt though. Then told him I know you aren't that drunk and told his friend "get your boi". Thus bringing up my anger management issue.

My sister told me that clubs aren't my thing because I'm old and I have PTSD. I am not old nor do I have PTSD (not severe at least). I just don't like people in my personal space (uninvited) nor do I enjoy people BUMPING into me. I mean really, you aren't that drunk and all you have to is throw up the universal sign for "my bad"- put your hands up and mouth "my bad". That's all I'm asking. See you bumping me and now I'm hot. Not angry but hot...dang the temperature is like on hell up in this piece. <--another reason my sister called me old.

Now I don't want to make it seem like I didn't enjoy myself because I did. My crew was great- especially since they asked me to hang. The DJ was killing it. The crowd, when they weren't bumping me, was cool. Drunk people provide such great laughable moments. Towards the end of the night there was almost a dance battle-lol.

I just hope that the next time I make it to the club it hasn't changed too much.

Rock on.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Crying behind vs Crying over

I love music and it often speaks to me. It can break down how I am feeling, give me encouragement and sometimes musically illustrate a situation I am going through in a way that shocks me.

When I heard Chrisette Michelle’s “Blame it on me” it came at a point in my life when I really needed to hear it. I was holding onto something that was long dead. I mean it’s like you’re at the point where you know that the other person doesn’t want to be there and the other person knows that you know- they don’t want to be there.  When that song said, “Blame it on me, say it's my fault. Say that I left you outside in the cold with a broken heart. I really don't care, I ain't crying no more, say I'm a liar, a cheater, say anything that you want as long as it's over”. Like we are going to break up, I’m going to say it’s over and if people ask you what happened? You can blame it on me. I’m cool with that because I have done the best I could. I mean I am fighting myself because he is sitting on the sidelines, looking at the cheerleaders= meaning he isn't even in the game anymore. You get to a point where you are crying behind a guy or you are crying over a guy. 
You just have to know where you are…I’ll explain.

When you are crying behind a guy, there is usually another party. Whether it’s another woman (or man-hey it’s happened), his family, his friends, his raggedy friend with curly hair that’s always calling talkingboutsome hey man let’s go out. Let’s go to the spot. Curly haired mutha…oh my bad, where was I? Crying behind something he did, something he said, etc… you may break up for a hot second but eventually you get back together.


When you cry over a guy…you know it’s over-hence the phrase. “Crying over”, you are crying over him. Crying over the demise of a relationship. Crying over the fact that you two are Not getting back together because it…is…over.  You are just *sigh* heartbroken. You are physically ill, emotionally drained. You are either going to eat everything or nothing at all. You are going to sleep or not sleep. Every little thing triggers tears. For me, I’ll be honest, it was really bad. I could be at work and the air would move and my eyes would water. I would have to make it to the bathroom before the tears started falling down my face. I was really heartbroken. I’d never experienced pain like that before. I mean I thought I had, but no this was a new pain. Like it felt as though my heart had cracks in it and I could feel the cold air seeping through those cracks. This pain was new and different because not only was it caused by someone I had truly loved but by one I thought really loved me. I mean we were going to build a future and he pretty much told me I don’t give a shit about you. But see I’m not going to say that to you but I am going to do you one better and Show you with my actions. Sap sucker...oh wait there I go again. I'm back.

See I didn't think I would be able to climb out of that dark hole…I lost like 25 pounds. Oh but see I aided in my depression. I mean you know how we do…I got Brian McKnight’s “One Last Cry” on replay. I’m listening to Jennifer Holiday sing about “Giving up” and getting hit with the deep shoulder cry. You know the one, where your shoulders bounce up and down and the cry gets caught in the back of your throat. Pitiful!

BUT…I learned from that…and with help, I moved on from that dark place.  And then I changed my music selection. I stopped torturing myself with Brian, Sade, John, Kelly, Jason, Jennifer…etc and began to hear music that added a lil pep to my step like hey you are going to “Regret” the day you left me. And even if that joker doesn’t miss me or doesn’t regret the day…HEY I don’t care. This is my therapy.  I'll hold on to that, I do believe that he knows he effed up and knows he won’t find another woman like me -he might spin that and say good but we ain’t asking him so it doesn’t matter. 

Please help me out

I'm trying to test something out soooo...since you are on here. Could you just click on the ad to your right (facing the screen) or the one at the bottom of the screen. You can immediately close the window once it opens. I'm just trying to test something out.


Oh and a new post will be up later today.

Peanut Butter & Jelly

Friday, April 6, 2012

"She Ratchet!"

Ratchet: to start acting a hot mess in public; serious fuckery, tomfoolery, or other such shenanigans; to be ghetto. to be unclassyAdjective: it describes a person or activity that is out of hand, out of control, or generally whack in some way.

I know that I can come across as a classy, dignified and sofisifated (I realize I spelled this wrong, just in case the spelling police hit my page) lady but...I have another side.*Shaking my head in shame* I love ratchet things. Okay now I do have my limits but sometimes I do get caught up on and for a bit I was all about the Real Housewives of Atlanta. I don't watch anymore because that deserves a stamp of "When Ratchness Goes Wrong". I do however occasionally watch Mob Wives <---but those ladies are hood and not ratchet and from what I understand, there is a difference. And although I detest what the shows stand for…sometimes I can get sucked into Basketball Wives/Love and Hip Hop. I can be so weak *tear, tear*

*Disclaimer* I don't wear kanekalon wet and wavy #4 plus #1b, in a ponytail all down my back while sporting green contacts and sweatpants with juicy written across the butt topping it off with a cut off shirt with BITCH bedazzled on it all the while popping on some bubblicious bubble gum- watermelon flavored.

My ratchetness is really lies with music. Some of it…I really love. I fall victim to the Chris Rock, “if they beat is right, she’ll dance all night” syndrome.  It’s something about those beats or the cadence of the chorus and then BOOM I find myself singing right along with it “Cake, Cake, Cake, Cake, Cake”. Now some people may say think this music is something new…but it really isn't. I had to do some soul searching and I came to the realization that I was a fan of ratchet music before we even started calling things ratchet. Hell for a minute we called in Miami Bass. Really, Luke is like the Godson (the Godfather would be those nasty ole men of the blues- looking at you Clarence Carter) of ratchet music…exhibit A “Hey we want some pussy” <--that still makes me blush and that song came out what, over 20 years ago?

It doesn’t stop there, other infamous ratchet “themes”- DJ Quick’s “Bitch better have my money” or Akinyele’s “Put it in your mouth” (1996). There are more… Khia had us All telling guys “lick it now, lick it good” <--she wasn’t talking about envelopes or stamps either. And then remember Hurricane Chris- he had a whole song about being ratchet-he wanted to start a ratchet movement (I don’t know, but he may have succeeded).  It’s just, back in the day, we only heard these songs in clubs or through the headphones of our walkman (haha remember walkmans- sorry). Now all you have to do is turn on the radio and “Make it Rain Trick” or “Toot it and Boot” can blast through your speakers courtesy of your local radio station.

Now before people think this is an old head complaining about this overtly sexually explicit music of today…press pause-I’m not.  (press play) I understand why it’s out; it gets the people going and that translates to downloads, albums sales and Dollars; so I know it’s not going away. And honestly…I’m glad. A sister needs something to jam to on her way home from work (I just have to remember not to pull up at church blasting 2 Chains- I got some dirty looks last time).