Not national news; definitely not international news. Just “me stuff.” Because…I dunno, I think y’all like hearing about me. If you don’t, and you have a topic you’d like me to discuss or weigh in on, let me have it at firstname.lastname@example.org. I’m not going to pretend like I’m deep or whatever, but no gossip questions please. (No, I have absolutely no opinion whatsoever on Erykah Badu getting naked, and things of that nature.)
My kids are cutting the fool. I’m sure it’s regular “I’m going into puberty” stuff, but somebody is gonna get shot playing around with me. I can guaran-damn-tee you that.
I’m wearing these fishnet type stockings and…I hate to say this, but…I think I feel a lil sexy. I’m sort of an earthy girl. I like bare feet, bare legs, no makeup. But I must say, these tights have me feeling some kinda way. I’ve been feeling rather matronly lately, so this is a nice change of pace. It’s quite easy to fall in the “I’m too busy being somebody’s mama to look cute rut.” I’m not saying be a slave to fashion, but show a lil cleavage or some leg parts from time to time.
My ideal night: crawling into bed about 10:30, curling up in a ball, sleeping soundly and dreaming vibrantly until about 7:30 a.m. I don’t think I’ve done that in well over a year. I refuse to go the sleeping pill route, but I really want a good night’s sleep.
Cupcakes used to be this quickie thing parents did when they didn’t want to break out the cake pan. Far less mess than an entire cake, portable, bite-sized, and GREAT for bake sales. Now, they’re trendy. The fight the power girl in me wants to reject this. Unfortunately, fight the power girl was stuck in traffic when the chubby girl wrapped her soup coolers around her first cakelove confection.
I’m 99% certain that this year will be a no muss/no fuss birthday year. I realize a need to spend more time in reflection, and I just really don’t have it in my spirit to do it up this year. I’m sure some of you are saying, “Uh, it’s only March.” Usually, I’m looking forward to the celebration to culminate the end of the warm months and the beginning of winter, so this is when I start thinking about my festivities. I’m just not feeling it. It’s not the blues. I’m just searching for something else, and a party ain’t it.
Even at 33, I can not get angry without crying. It starts with blind rage. It ends with tears. As much as I try to combat this, I can’t stop it. I had this experience with the post office this morning. I hate the crying thing, because when it’s dealing with people I know, it seems contrived, almost like cheating. But I CAN’T not cry with pretty much any emotion. Shawn Michaels retired from wrestling last night, and I cried for that too. Ugh. I will say this: if I’m crying because I’m pissed – run.
I think sometimes we buy into our own hype. People look at you, and because you’re interested in this, they presume you are also down with that. If you’re not careful, you can let them mold who you are. There’s something unhealthy about that on both ends. Then, the first thing we do, is complain about this box that we allowed them to build, and we willingly entered.
I still haven’t worked out a weight loss regimen. I’ve got a lot of mind over matter ish that I’m trying to work through. I literally had to tell myself the other night, “Just go ahead and cry bitch. The hurt you feel is NOT going to be suffocated by that biscuit.” Yet, the struggle continues.