Fifteen Things

Life is full of simple things that make you smile.  Here’s fifteen things off the top of my head that make me laugh:

1.  Babies discovering their feet.

2. Watching little girls holding their first purses.

3. Pets sneezing.

4. Fart noises.

5. Combovers.  (This is kind of mean, but when you use gel and it’s separated into, like, five mega strands, you know what it iuh.)

6. My friend Melissa’s face whenever anyone says anything bad about Diddy. (Her…everything…goes on pause.)

7.  Smart Cars.

8. This

9.  Family Guy

10. South Park (No, they are not the same.)

11. Homeless men hitting on me.

12. The words “smang” and “smegma.”

13.  The term “of up in this ho” as punctuation.

14. Old men making funny faces.

15. Random leprechauns.

Some days you just need a laugh. Or a giggle.  Or the opportunity to say “Beauty Jackson sure is a weird chick.”  If any of this applies, you’re welcome.

“Oh you mad cuz I’m stylin on you?”

I haven’t done a freestyle in a hot minute.  Additionally, I haven’t posted anything in a hot minute, so swim this stream of consciousness with ya people right quick.

The news has been abuzz with talks of the four recent instances of air traffic controllers falling asleep during overnight shifts.  This morning, the news referenced the FAA taking “drastic measures” to ensure this doesn’t happen again.  How drastic?  The FAA is implementing is an “anti-fatigue policy.”  There will also be an additional person in the tower, as well as a member of management to occasionally ensure things are operating as they should.  I can only imagine that the pictures-on-a-dart-board method of scheduling will now be a thing of the past.  Are they serious?  Being sensible and efficient is what qualifies as drastic?  What if that lone individual has a medical emergency; or, heaven forbid, has to use the lavatory?  FAA…you stupid.

As a person who will not hesitate to gas up the Hyundai and hit the road, I feel qualified to say that some people should really just fly.  The left lane is the FAST LANE.  It is not the place for you state your moral objection to these whipper snappers by driving one mile under the speed limit.  It will get you flipped off, run over…or stabbed.  Conversely, the right lane is NOT the fast lane.  Therefore, there is no reason to ride my bumper when the left lane is readily available to you.  Do it to me, and I will take absolutely no issue with making you my bitch by going the minimal speed limit.  Cracker Barrel makes me ornery.  And while we’re on the topic…

For those of you who have been to Cracker Barrel, do you also believe it to be a place full of stock characters.  You’ve got three-five Elderly Parent/Middle Aged Offspring tables, two huge family groups, four regular sized family groups, two tables of blue haired ladies, four-five tables of elderly couples, and a maximum of three “stray negro” tables.*  I won’t go into the fact that though the food is not spicy, you WILL have to procure police tape for your GI system.

This bears repeating:  Not everything requires your input.  Some people have this habit of being malicious under the guise of “just being truthful.”  There will always be circumstances that require us to speak up on uncomfortable or contentious topics.  Whether or not you are a rude jackass, however, is totally under your control.  I say it all the time, but it can’t be said enough.

So, Turkish Airlines has Kobe as a spokesman?  It’s so weird and random.  There’s a joke in there somewhere – I’m just too lazy to find it.  Plus, it’s Kobe, so cracking a joke is almost like cheating during an open book multiple choice test, right?  Of course, that makes me doubly lazy, but ah well.

What is it about the male eye that prevents them from seeing…anything.  I have a father, I have a brother, I’ve been married and I have a son.  The number of times I’ve heard, “Where’s my…?”  followed by an exasperated “Yes” when asked if they looked [insert obvious place here], only to discover it in plain sight is astounding.  There was a study that showed that even when it comes to personal appearances, men and women see things differently.  (I can’t remember where.  Google. That’s what I’m gonna do.)  Perhaps this also affects the ability to find socks and ties.

I can’t stay in hotel rooms ever without thinking about my dearly departed Foxy, giving our room the once over with her towel and old school Lysol in the brown bottle.  I miss that lady so much.  I’m convinced that if she pursued her education, rather than life as a housewife, she’d have been head honcho at the Center for Disease Control & Prevention.  That woman could isolate and eradicate germs like no other.

And speaking of germs, women enjoy giving men crap for their sloppy ways.  However, there is nothing more disgusting than a women’s public restroom.  I’ll spare you the gory details, but I work in a professional environment, and you’d think I worked at a truck stop.  Disgusting.

I love the centered feeling drama-free road trips give me.  I wasn’t even stressed by the fact that my favorite CD was scratched, and found the radio to be uncharacteristically agreeable on Sunday.  I actually smelled fresh mountain breezes, yo.  Tide isn’t lying.  I had the windows down, and in the middle of nowhere, all of a sudden everything smelled like fresh laundry, for about 30 minutes.  good times.  I need to do this even more often in the spring.

*Often stared at by at least two of the elderly table couples.

The Ten Mel Commandments

1. I do not schedule the first date. If a dude digs me, he’s got a maximum of four days to close the deal by inviting me on an outing. It doesn’t have to be expensive, but I believe it is important to see how you treat service people, if you open the door for old ladies, and/or if you are a flagrant ass and boobie watcher.  If there is no invitation in the alloted time, then he’s filtered out. We can still be cool, but the only things that I know of that hang on without purpose are barnacles.  I’ll pass.

2.  The last thing I say is the last word of an argument. Call it a character flaw, but I don’t feel the need to physically say the very last thing (except when it’s my kids – they better shut up when I’m talking).  When I believe I have stated my point thoroughly, I don’t feel the need to go at a person with the back and forth. I change the channel.

3. I will be forever fly. I don’t believe in “I’m losing weight, so I won’t buy clothes until…”  That’s the silliest thing in the world to me.  There’s nothing encouraging about a weight loss journey, if you look like a shapeless frump blob in your clothes.  You don’t have to break the bank, but I firmly believe that one’s situation should be moisturized and their sexy preserved (thank you Diddy) at all times.

4.  There’s always a place for humility.  I don’t believe that one has to be a boot licking yes man/woman, but there is nothing more irritating and boring than excessive arrogance.  From my perspective, it seems that you are trying to convince someone, be it onlookers or yourself, and it just comes off as desperate.  As India Arie says, “There ain’t no substitute for the truth.  Either it is or it isn’t.”  There’s nothing cute or appealing about chronic assholism.

5.  Music is everything.  Unless a person has deep psychological issues, it is virtually impossible to find a person who does not like music.  Have you noticed the question is always, “What type of music do you like?” and never “Do you like music?”  It’s like food.  It’s just a matter of finding that person’s preference.  You can praise God, fight the power, and thrash, all through this one medium.  Not too many things that are not scientifically “life sustaining” have such universal appeal.

Speaking of “Universal Appeal” (and because I can)”

You loved it.

6.  I am everything that I am.  I’m not “a black woman first, and a mother second…” and all that other foolishness.  My blackness doesn’t overtake my responsibilities as a mother.  My femaleness doesn’t overtake my blackness.  Sure, being so many things sometimes causes clashing interests, but that’s part of the grown up world.  I put on my big girl panties and deal with it.

7.  Shea butter is everything after music.  This east coast living turned me dry as dust, and I couldn’t use regular lotion anymore. Of course, I learned that natural oils were better for the skin anyway, so it’s a win, but damn.  If I don’t have shea butter, I’m not leaving the house. Non-negotiable.

8. I do not air dirty laundry.  This is one I had to grow on.  There’s nothing attractive about putting your drama in the streets.  My baby daddy and I have not had some epiphany where things “work” for us.  He still does shit that chaps my ass, but it’s nobody’s business but mine.  If my kids ever happen upon my blog, I don’t want it to be filled with venom about their father, or really anyone else.  I handle my beef person to person now, not on the net.

9.  Change is good.  Following the same routine since time immemorial can cause life to lose its luster.  There’s nothing wrong with shaking it up a little bit.  I’m not saying I’m planning to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro (yet), but little tweaks to the norm can keep this life thing fresh enough to be interested in what the next day will bring.

10.  Have a good time.  Not everything has to be taken so damn seriously.  Enjoy your life.  Tell a joke.  Let some bullshit slide from time to time.  Walk around your house/room/bathroom naked for about an hour, and just ponder life.  There’s a lot that is still here for us to enjoy.

News Items

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  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.

Ruminations for that A$$!

Doesn’t Mo’Nique always look like she’s reading from the sick and shut in list when she speaks for an extended period?  “And we will lift Sister But-er-um in pray-er…”  I didn’t hear her Oscar acceptance speech, but I saw a flash on the news, and that’s how it was going in my mind. 

I’m so ornery lately.  I make an effort to not be overly negative, but when everything seems to work on your nerves, what’s a girl to do.  I’ll tell you what: You throw them hoes the side eye.  It’s not always beneficial for me to use my words to express what’s on my mind. I throw side eyes like ninja stars.

I believe in allowing the do-over. But even with that, there are two things you can’t take back: hurtful words, and prison-escapee farts in public bathrooms. 

I hate arbitrary Facebook groups, fandom, and stupid quizzes.  Even when I’m in a good mood, I hate to see them.  I mean, every once in a while, I guess it’s okay.  I won’t even police what “every once in a while is,” because we’re all grown folks.  You know what’s excessive.  I’m also calling a moratorium on that “Wifey/Sidepiece/Jumpoff” quiz.

This morning, I walked out the door and accidentally locked it, whilst my son was still inside.  When he emerged, he shouted, “Why you gotta lock the black man up?”  He is now for sale.

Will Smith used to be my boo. Now he’s touching the Karate Kid.  Why is he touching the Karate Kid.  Remember when filmmakers used to have a new idea, then the would write a script based on said new idea, and people would watch the movie?  Yeah. That was cool.

Man, sometimes, shit gets rough, and you just gotta put some Tussin on it.  Pull out that Tussin and let it get all up in there. Tussin works best when you let it sink down to the bone, or so I’ve been told.


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.


There comes a time…

…when you think, “It would have been easier if I would have just slapped that ho.”

…when the only support you’re getting is from your bra.  And one of the straps broke.

…when you realize that passing the blame isn’t all bad.  That time usually comes when you fart in a crowd.

…when recognize even those you love the most are deeply flawed.

…when you recognized that you’re pretty raggedy too.

…when you realize that the previous two aren’t to be forgiven or endured, but to be embraced as part of a real life.

…when a you (man AND woman) realize that a lot of your relationship problems stem from wanting your mate to “act right.”

…when you ignore the fact that you don’t act right your damn self.

…when you turn into your parents and you couldn’t be feel more proud.

…when you realize that love comes in many forms, and if you’re merely limiting it to a ring box, you’ve missed the entire point.

…when you learn that inappropriate humor is often the funniest.

…when you think the dimples in your butt give it character.

…when you would still buy cellulite cream regardless.  Leave the characters for cartoons.

…when you realize that true wisdom lies in admitting what you don’t know.

…when you realize that the time you wasted worrying about the opinions of others is time you wasted.  Period.

…when your child does the same crap you did, and you want to give your parents a rhodium trophy for not yanking a knot out of your ass on an hourly basis.

…when you realize that you DON’T have haters.  Not real ones.  You ain’t Jigga.  You are a bookkeeping clerk.  Somebody poured honey in your calculator?  Then you’re cool.  Chill out.