OMG, my boobs.  They’re killing me.  No reason why.  It’s all gravy I guess.

That’s a rude way to start a post right?  I’m the worst.  I just want to stay in the habit of posting, rather than falling off for days and weeks at a time.  I need to retain a sense of obligation to my blog, so that I will not allow myself to not write.

There was a whole bunch of snow…that did NOT come to the DMV.  Hay-soo Kree-sto! We have had more than enough.  I think if I had someone to put in some quality snuggle time, it may have been different.  However, there is no such snuggle buddy, so cold weather is just a bit of a chore.  Usually I dont’ wish bad weather on other folks, but uh…yeah.

I’ve found myself turning into my mother.  When I see my kids step on or over something, I go ballistic.  “So, you’re just gonna act like it’s not there?  That’s cute.”

I’ve been saying this everywhere, but I’m gonna say it here:

Amber Rose: absolutely not.  You are not Grace Jones.  What do you do?  What have you done?  You’re smokin hot, I’ll give you that, but what else?  There are a lot of smoking hot chicks in the world.  Soooo…what else ya got for me?  Ok, you’re bisexual.  Oooh.  Is it the 40s, and nobody called me.  I know more than a few beautiful, bisexual women.  So…what else you got?  Nothing?  Remember in Boomerang, when Grace Jones rubbed her undies in old boy’s face?  Yeah, you’re not even fit to have that happen to you.  You’re not fit to hold Grace’s glittery dildo.  (I don’t even know if she has one…of course she has one…but in my mind, it’s got glitter encased in it.)  So do us all a favor, stay in your lane and go back to *snicker* fucking Kanye West.  Yeah…because…you know…you and Ye have sex.  Hot Star Jones, Al Reynolds sex.  *muttering* Fuggouttaheah.



This Morning

I decided that getting to work in a timely fashion was more important than my self affirming post.  To type such a post whilst neglecting one’s duties is the epitome of counter-productivity, wouldn’t you say?  Fortunately, I’ve achieved most of the goals set out for today.  (Yes, keeping up with day to day tasks and minuscule details is, in fact, a goal.)  I am proud of myself that for well over a month, I have been arriving to work in a timely manner.  I’ve also kept track of my arrival and departure times. Again, this seems like a small thing, but for a woman whose life exists in a state of generalized clusterfuckery, it’s a massive accomplishment.

Today was a one cup of coffee day, but I feel moderately energized.  I’m feeling in it to win it.  I haven’t cleared up all of my other stuff, but Rome wasn’t built in a day either.  Like I tell the shawties, “The best way to eat an elephant is one bite at a time.”  I hate when I have to believe my own hype.

A change of pace

To get back in my writing swing, let’s see if I can keep up early morning blogging.  One of my biggest things is that I have all these dreams, but I sometimes lack the follow through.  On an old episode of The Office, Michael had a butt load of money stacked in his shoe (funds which I believe he had dishonestly gained from an old aunt or his granny), and he pulled it all out to host an extravaganzza to celebrate the departure of his nemesis , Toby.  I like that conviction.  I’m the worst saver.  I’m all carpe diem.  There are certain existential facets of life where I really had a bead on the long game, but things that are practical, not so much.  Let’s see if these daily affirmations and such give me soem sort of accountability.

  • I’ve gotta get the final information on my student loans so that I can begin school in September.
  • I have to call the MVA.  Long story, but I’ve got a bunch to do with that foolishness
  • I’m entering the Boston Review Short Story Contest again this year, so I have to start on my writing and honestly, research a topic.
  • Gotta craft a game plan to stop being fat. And lazy. Part of the reason I haven’t lost a pound is because the gym isn’t in my house.  And I have the willpower shares all the characteristics of a jellyfish spine.
  • Gonna do my morning meditation AFTER my early morning parent conference.

I can do this guys.  I’m crossing mah fingers, toes and butt cheeks.  That’s a LOT of crossing.


The pity party has been in full swing.  For months, I tell ya.  Months.  Part of my highs and lows, you have witnessed on the very pages of this blog, and I would always profess that I was on the upswing of a down slope.  Yeah.  I’m sort of a liar.  The truth is, I’m still pretty sad.  Who knows how long this will go on?  I’m hoping it ends soon, but I’ve been trying to mind fuck myself into thinking I knew the answer.  I don’t.  And that’s because there are about a million reasons why.  It’s not as simple as suffering from chronic depression.  I have a whole bunch of things currently going on in my life that make me wish I could stay in bed for about a month.  Taking a pill will not help me cope with any of these issues.  I need…I don’t know what the hell I need.

I’ve recently discovered that the kids’ father is terminally ill.  Thus far, the outlook has not bee positive.  Regardless of my issues with him, I wouldn’t wish something like this upon ANY person.  Additionally, I set free my baggage with him long ago, and outside of him doing things to directly impede the day to day happenings already in place, I treated him with casual ambivalence.  This however, is a little different.  I’m really praying for the strength to help my kids through this time, and the compassion to treat him like a decent human being.  He, of course, does not make it easy, but I remind myself that I can only do what I can do.  It’s up to him to express interest in spending time with the kids at this difficult time.  My feelings on that are by no means easy, either.

I’m not a pill girl, and I have yet to make time for a therapy session so I’m really focusing on my prayer and my meditation.  It helps some, but it doesn’t always combat my blues.  Sometimes I feel like I’m drowning in my own clusterfuckery.  That’s heavy when you are drowning in yourself.

No.  I need I would like companionship.  Like, for real.  But the nature of my personality tells me that it’s gonna be a HOT minute before that happens.  I summed it up in an emotional vomit session with one of my friends:

Me, I’m a rubix cube as far as dudes are concerned.  In the beginning, it’s fascinating that everybody doesn’t “get it” so there’s something admirable about taking a shot at the title, in a manner of speaking.  Until he realizes that he doesn’t get it either. So, subconsciously or not, the resign themselves to the fact that I’m not meant to be gotten. How many times have you ever even seen a completed Rubix cube after it’s been jumbled?  Only freakish weirdos.  So I get the speech: that I’m a unique and special person, and SOME dude is going to be SO LUCKY, and as much as he WISHES he could be that dude, he realizes that he just CAN’T. I’m convinced there’s a “Break up with Melanie” template somewhere (*look down now* *sigh here*).

And rather than set loose my apocalyptic anger, because I don’t want to be branded as an immature chick who throws a tantrum when she doesn’t get her way, I eat something…or everything.

As extroverted as I am, it’s come to my attention that I sort of exist on the fringe of everything.  I’m not a neat and tidy, hospital corners type of chick.  I don’t limit myself on “this” train of thought, simply because I feel a certain way about “that.”  It just doesn’t work that way with me.  Sometimes, I feel a certain way about a thing simply on the strength of feeling that way about it.  It can’t get no deeper than that.  Hence, making me a little bundle of contradictions.  And bundles of contradictions don’t always do well in the dating world.

And yeah…it’s coming back to that, because who wants to do this shit alone ALL the time.  My family and friends are great.  My kids…jeez, they’re rock stars.  (I never group them in with “family,” not because they aren’t family, but because they ARE me, and therefore, have their own category.)  But there’s something to be said about having a person to walk with you through the muck that is your life – and walk with them through the muck that is theirs – in semi-matching boots.  Is that too much?

For a long time, I bucked against the idea of that, because for a long time, there was no space in my life for it.  Even when I was kicking it with the Chupacabra Hunter (whom I did, and for the foreseeable future will, love), there was a certain separateness that we each guarded, where we went through life in relative close proximity, but through our own respective mucks.  I’d like to meet a fella interested in muck-puddle jumping.  And occasionally being, and having, brief comic respite. Oh…and sex. I would like to have sex please.

Even the biggest, toughest battleships have harbors.

Live and Direct from the Crescent City


6:10 – I’m watching the Saints’ Homecoming Parade on ESPN News.  They were playing that “I Believe” song, which I never liked because I always found it a bit underachieving.  “The Saints are going to the playoffs.”  Back in the days that we didn’t even dare to dream of the Super Bowl.  Oh yes…those days are SO no more.  I still get misty thinking about that.  Angela Hill looks good grey, and Dennis Woltering (sp.) seem like he hasn’t changed since pre-Katrina.  New Orleans has one of the BEST news teams ever.

6:20 – NOPD is bulldozing through the crowd.  I want to say something bad about them, but some of mah folks are NOPD, soooo…yeah…Cliff says the street is in total gridlock. Usually I’d be upset, but i LOVE this.  Bourbon Street looks exactly as it should.  It’s good to see Old Man Benson so happy.  Watching the Mighty Mighty Roneagles, and Eaglettes, marching now.  My father and two of my sisters PROUDLY rep the Burgundy & Gold.  This was once the premier African American public school in the city.  It has reopened since Katrina and I’m excited to see a new generation proudly wear those colors again.

6:30 – The beads and confetti are in full effect!  Knowing how much energy my city has on a normal day, it’s exciting for us to be in a spotlight for something about us!  Drew is throwing beads.  You’ve gotta love this guy.  I’ve never spoken to someone who’s encountered him who had a negative thing to say about the guy.  Are they really giving a weather report?  And “Lost” commercials?  Don’t nobody want to see that dry ass shit.  Even though they have the most yummy Asianish dude.  He used to be on Angel.  Mmmmm…dreamy.

6:40 – Warren Easton High School.  I know a lot of folks who went there.  I never figured out why.  When one New Orleanian asks another New Orleanian where you went to school, they mean high school.  Yes.  High School is as important as college.  Good to know the big girls are still swinging the flags.  Is that tradition everywhere?  The thinner girls are cheerleaders, but the big girls that know how to GET IT are on the flag team.  And now, it is time for the Marching 100.  The Purple & Gold.  ST. AUGUSTINE.  The boys were always rumored to be better looking than they actually were.  Their band, however, has ALWAYS been spectacular.  They are not disappointing.  My brother just informed me that Super Bowl 44 was not only the most watched TV show in American history, but also CANADIAN history.  GLORIOUS!  Everyone was waiting for St. Aug to play that Ying Yang, and being crowd pleasers, they’re doing the damn thing.  Am I the only one who thinks Anthony Hargrove looks like he’ll punch you in the mouth and go eat a sandwich right after?  The Saints are like kids at Christmas.  We love them because they love us.  The game is like the third party.  It’s truly a bond.

6:50 – Football and basketball players are so funny.  When you see a bunch of players on the field or the court, you see them amongst a bunch of big dudes, so you just think, “Ah well.  That’s normal.”  Then you see them standing alone and you think, “This dude is big as fuck.”  FINALLY Orleans and Jefferson parishes can agree on something.  They split the cost on this parade.  Now it will take another 44 years and an act of divine intervention.  Darren Sharper is my fiancee, but Pierre Thomas is such a baby faced cutie pie…and a BEAST on the field.  This Captain Morgan commercial with the owl is HILARIOUS!  I also have a weird relationship with Quizno’s commercials.  Their tea smells weird, yet tastes good, but I digress.  NO New Orleanian underestimates a Manning.  I love seeing old timers excited about something they thought they’d NEVER see.

7:00 – MY BOO DARREN!!!! I’m sure he’s drunk.  I will be VERY  surprised if he’s not back next season.  Good lord those dimples.  I think this lady is trying to flirt with my boo, because she kept asking him the same question.  Don’t get cut Miss Lady.  They brought out the Budweiser Clydesdales.   This makes every year of fandom worth it.  Brother Martin ROTC is coming through.  Yeah.  YAWN.  It’s like a mathematician showing up at a house party and pulling out his calculator.  We love our folks so much, they would have had this parade whether we won or lost.  That’s how we roll.  Again, the game is the third party.  An important third party, but I’m sure that if the Saints decided that they wanted to become a cricket team, there’d be a run on black and gold bowling machines.  Belee dat.

7:10 – You will not see ANY other party like a New Orleans party, and Drew know that.  If it sounds like I have a total fan crush, I do.  He’s one of the few celebs that I would stop and bother if I saw them on the street.  (Side Note: Paul Mooney is not on that list. I saw him in Harlem once, and he looked like he was gonna cut me.)  I think it still hasn’t hit him – or most of us – that we’re the champs.  The Saints have a ring and a Lombardi trophy.  Whoda thunk?  Oh Jesus…the Ying Yang Twins are gonna perform.  I wonder if Gert Town is gonna show out.  By the way, I think Scott Fujita is one of the silent heroes of the Saints.  That dude gets the job done.  I hear old C. Ray in the background.  I wonder what he’s gonna do with himself.  JAMES CARVILLE.   He just strikes me as such a badass.  Like, if you tell him something crazy, he’ll give you that fatherly biting of the bottom lip and say, “Wha…say what nah?”  Vicious backhands would ensue.  My city is going to be on the rise yall.  Watch.

7:20 – These Captain Morgan commercials are hilarious.  The cute lil baby is saying Who Dat.  I luh da kids.  Walter Cohen, Mystikal’s alma mater, is marching now.  (See, stick with Bee Jack and you get a history lesson!)  Hartley is in the Muses’ float, which is a high heel.  How apropos.  I’m sure he and Porter have the most drained nuts ever.  I doubt the Saints will ever have to pay for anything in New Orleans again, ever.  Real talk.  This is the third or fourth time I’ve heard this Ying Yang song.  Over it.  Much respect to the Marine Corps.  I’m not in the habit of talking shit about the military.  They do what most won’t.

7:30 – Irvin Mayfield is playing the Star Spangled Banner.  I would have preferred my high school (also the Black & Gold!) homie Kenyatta Beasley, who is doing great shit in the music world, play it.  Next Super Bowl KB.  Wait, seriously?  The Marine Corp played Ying Yang now?  LMAO!  I’m over the song, but that part was funny.  Nike puppets commercials, pretty amusing.  I’m watching the whitest little white baby in America singing Ying Yang.  I can’t stop thinking that they sang “skeet skeet skeet.”  Angela hill, are you botoxing it?  Say it ain’t so.  I always thought she was a classy broad.  That was just an aside.  Botox doesn’t make her unclassy.  Payton is holding the Lombardi.  He’s so excited, and he’s earned it.

7:40 – What is the name of that song they always play at football games?  The one with the drum beat where you periodically yell?  I don’t know why it gets me so amped, but it does.  The Endemion float is finally making it to Gallier Hall.  All the Saints bigwigs are there.

7: 50 – Angela Hill is so overwhelmed, she’s forgetting to report.  She’s standing there in awe watching.  I can’t blame her.  She’s New Orleans to the core too.  If you don’t know her, you should.  Just threw some beads to old Cee Ray and his slick ass.  Bobby Jindal looks like the Crypt Keeper.  They can’t even hear Nagin over the crowd and he’s got a mic.  Mary Landrieu, we can’t hear you on a regular day, so we definitely can’t hear you now.  I’ve never seen a more soft spoken chick that would probably hand you your ass.  This camera must be right next to a speaker.  Not the one next to those SPEAKING.  It’s all good.  I’m gonna take some SoCo and lime shots.  He’s getting all sorts of keys to the city and whatnot.  It’s a madhouse!  I hope Ebony is watching so she can witness the Benson Boogie in action!  I never wanted to be in a band or any sort of marching organization, because that shit takes place rain, sleet, hail, snow.  They do not play about their parades in New Orleans.  They will really be on some “Bitch betta have my Endymion.”

8:00 – I love seeing priests at parades. I’m not sure why.  It just tickles me.  Dennis Woltering is getting CRUNK.  I don’t think Payton has put that Lombardi trophy down yet.  I know his right shoulder is sore as a mug.  ESPN, yes, I know you’ve never seen anything like it.  If you want to party, if you want to celebrate ANYTHING – a birthday, a bar mitzvah, a bat mitzvah, a baby shower, losing your first tooth, your bow legged uncle winning a pie eating contest, growing a third tittay, it matters not – bring it to New Orleans baby.  We’ll do you right!

Gonna go celebrate being the 13th man.

Train Stops, Overhauls, and Other Stuff

I’m on my hamster wheel with one leg.  I hate being in flux.  I haven’t felt this off since my Saturn’s Return.  I’m not going through quarter life crisis.  I’m not going through mid-life crisis.  Third-life crisis?  I’m supposed to be somewhere else.  I can feel it.  I have no fucking clue where that somewhere is.  I have been battling for a silent moment lately.  If there was a spiraling toilet ride at an amusement park in hell, I’d be stuck on it.

I feel overwhelmed.  I’ve felt overwhelmed for months.  I’ve had no direction for months.  Mental constipation is so not the business.  This snow situation has me so frustrated I could take a crap in the middle of a board meeting.  I have only been outside to shovel show.  I have much more to shovel, yet my back hurt so damn bad, I couldn’t do it today.  It makes me question moving to a place where I have no family around me.  I know when the Spring comes, I’ll be over this, but right now, I’m so verklempt.

This bothers me because I’m a mover.  I’m a shaker.  When shit gets rough, I shake it off and devise a new plan.  There is no plan.  Trying to carve one out gives me a headache.  There’s a lump that’s sat in my chest for God knows how long, and I have no clue to get it out. It just weighs on me.

My boys won the Super Bowl last night, and of course I have a post coming about that.  But in this moment, I want to sit in a corner, put my feet over my shoulder and cry.  Until my throat hurts and the tears run out.  I want to cry because I’m not sure why the hell I’m crying.  My heart says go to counseling, and I think it would be helpful, but where the fuck am I supposed to find the time?  I had a conversation with my HR manager pertaining to my career path, and the end result was me going back to school.  That encourages me, but how the fuck do I do that.  The thought of incurring more student loan debt is frustrating.  Trying to find the time is frustrating.  Being frustrated is frustrating! ARGH!

And I’m getting fatter.  The more depressed I get about my weight, the more discouraged I get and the more I eat.  It literally makes me want to cry.  It literally makes me cry.  I’m overwhelmed, but I must be focused.