Angie Says

Not The New Me

2012-02-02T17:50:00.000-12:00

I found out some good news recently. I'm the new me!

Let me explain, recently I reconnected with a friend from my past. I had been estranged from this person for about 6 years. The break in our friendship was extremely hard for me. Our relationship had become toxic, and it was killing me. I was depressed, confused, sad, tired, and numb - all at once.

Now, let me be clear.....I don't think she was trying to kill me per say. But, she was killing me, because I was letting her. It was a co-dependent relationship, based on guilt, drama, and immaturity. Because of my own issues being friends with this person was the perfect recipe for disaster. I'm a caretaker. I try to fix everything.....make nice.....keep the peace. It's just who I am. It's what I learned to do as a child to deal with a dysfunctional home. But, in my adult life my propensity to put others needs and wants before my own became my undoing.

So, I put a stop to it. Well, let me be honest - I had to put a stop to "it" because I had began planning to put a stop to myself. I got up, got away, got help and got on with it. And that shit was hard! The hardest thing I've ever done in my life. But it was worth it.

So when this old friend started exhibiting some of the same behaviours that drew me in and under in the past, I saw it for what it was. I'm not blaming her. She's a good person as people go. She just has unrealistic expectations of me - and she has no problem laying those expectations out. In the past I would try any way I could to do what was expected of me, and ignore my churning insides. I'd feel beholden to do what she asked of me because of things she'd done for me.

Well, no more. Not now. Not the new me.

I said, "No" The sun continued to shine, the Earth didn't swallow me up, hell, my stomach didn't even churn. I felt some kinda way about her asking, but more like "da hell?" than like "oh Lord, what am I gonna do."

And you know what!? She took the "No", and kept it moving. She met the new me.

To Do List

2011-11-04T16:01:00.000-12:00

I tend to lose focus on things I need to do for myself. So ever so often I need to remind myself. Here goes!

1. Stop reading EveryBodyElses damn blog every single day.
2. Write on your own blogs more often.
3. Take 30 minutes for yourself EVERYDAY.
4. Go to church.
5. Trim your split ends.
6. ~~Finish~~ Work on one of your projects.
7. Make a date with Mr Angie (get a baby-sitter)

That's enough.

Say My Name, Say My Name......

2011-10-06T14:08:00.000-12:00

Did you know that somewhere someone is calling you by a moniker that is not your own? They may even be referring to you by the clothes you wear, your hairstyle or the car you drive. Sometimes they know your real name sometimes they don’t.

One of my friend’s moved to a new neighborhood a few years ago. Her next door neighbor is fair skinned black guy with long wavy black hair that he wears in two pony tails down his back. So we named him Pocahontas…….you see the connection. We’ve even shortened it to just “Poke.” It’s gotten so bad my friend’s husband called him Poke to his face. It just slipped out, “Hey Poke, what’s up?” LOL The guy never even noticed.

In college one of my friends had a crush on a guy, but we didn’t know his name so we called him “Maxima Man” because he drove a Maxima. I don’t think we ever found out his real name because he had no interest in my friend. at. all. Latter we found out we should’ve been calling him “Gay Maxima Man.”

There was also a really tall skinny guy who lived in the dorm next dorm. We called him “Noodle Man.” When we saw the really tall skinny girl he was dating, we dubbed her “Noodle Woman.”

Someone else I know was kind of dating a guy who was about fifteen years her senior. We referred to him as “Old Fella.” She’d say, “I went to eat bar-b-que with Old Fella last night” and we thought nothing of it.

It’s really easy to slip up and call someone by their nickname to their face. So be careful. And if someone says “Hi” to you and there’s a weird tag attached to it……you just found out your nickname. “Hi, Perch Lips!”

Crazy Pink Guns!

2011-09-14T15:59:00.000-12:00

Recently MyKiddo and I were talking about the possibility of me and Mr. Angie purchasing a gun.....safety issues, size, etc. She suggested I buy a pink gun. Now, I'm pretty feminine and all that. However. A gun is not a barrette! It's a freakin' gun! Only you and the person you're about to shoot are gonna see it, right? I mean you don't wear it on a necklace or attach it to your key chain.

I want my gun to fit my hand and be reliable. Period. They can save the pink paint money and give me some free bullets.

Make it Clap for Me!!!!

2011-08-24T19:38:00.000-12:00

Everybody wants to feel valued and understood. Some of us need it more than others. I think they call it "high maintenance." I need my gifts and talents acknowledged on a regular basis.....always have. When I don't get that "stroke", I start to feel kinda antsy. Not in a nervous way, in a "let me do this trick in front of a new audience kind of way." I'm a sucker for applause, what can I say.

Well my present audience members care more about getting their shitty diapers changed, having clean uniforms for work, and living with their boyfriends. Baby Beaux, Mr. Angie, and MyKiddo.

Well yesterday a friend of mine clapped for me. He was entertained by something I wrote and he texted me to say so. That one atta-girl helped me remember I'm more than a diaper changer, a uniform washer etc.

Thank you Lone Clapper......you have always managed to remind me of who I am.

Outside Children?

2011-07-06T17:21:00.000-12:00

If your father was married and had a family when he got your mom pregnant, do you consider yourself an outside child? Do you tell other people about your situation? How do you feel about your dads kids from his marriage? How do they feel about you?

I'm dealing with a situation similar to this one, and I'd like to know what some other people think?

Family Edited

2011-07-04T09:42:00.001-12:00

I'm starting to write about things that I've wanted to write about for a long time , and it feels good. That is until I go back and read what I've written - and try to decide what to do with it. I love to write, but I'm still learning. I'd like to be a published author. But, there are some downsides to letting other people read your writing.

I saw Tyler Perry on the Oprah show a while back. He exposed physical and sexual abuses he suffered as a child. He said he didn't want to speak about it in depth publicly until after his mother. She had died the year before the interview so he felt free to speak about his abuse. That's such a heavy burden to bare.

Do I have to wait until my friends and relatives are dead before I can freely write about situations in my life that involved them. do I have to let my mom and dad edit my writing before I air our dirty laundry? Do I just change the names and places and let the chips fall? How do people who write about thier lives deal with this?

Motivation

2011-07-01T08:59:00.001-12:00

I just finished reading 1969's entry about her first triathlon. It pushed me to get back to writing even though it's been a while.

When I read about 1969 and Travel Diva doing a triathlon, I thought to myself, "Here they go again, doing fabulous shit that I can't do" I followed their training and preparation for the races with interest - but I was still a little jealous. Here lately its hard for me to imagine myself accomplishing fabulous things.

Well baaaaaaby, after reading 1969's post I saw things through new eyes. 1969 was a neophyte triathlete, and she didn't do as well as she thought she would. In fact she came in just about last in every event. From her description it was not pretty. But, she pushed on anyway, through fear of drowning, pain, hurt feelings and tears. And she finished! And after all a win is a win no matter how ugly or pretty right? So she won. The medal she received wasn't the only payoff for all of her hard work - she also knows that even if it's hard she can still do it. More over she was able to experience her friends and loved ones supporting her right through to the end, no matter the sacrifice. We need that, it helps us feel like we can do anything. And what's better than that.

I've been pretty stagnant lately. Just doing enough to get by. Hiding behind my age, my baby, and my responsibilities to my husband and family. But, those are just excuses. God has blessed me with everything good that I dared to ask of him. Who am I to become afraid and stop now, to sit complacently and forfeit the other blessings He wants to give me. Today I asked him to help me do some fabulous things that I've been too afraid to try and I'm sure he'll bless me with his favor again.

I've been motivated.

After the Rain.......

2011-03-22T07:58:00.001-12:00

Yesterday, while driving home from the doctors office, I had a major breakdown. One of those boo-hoo, tears and snot breakdowns. My eyes were left red and puffy and my nose was raw and tender. It was all I could do to just to drive home.

I didn't get any horrible news from the doctor, just a litany of tests and new appointment. I wasn't the Dr's visit on it's on that caused the breakdown. It was just the last straw. This emotional break down had been building for a while now. I think it started with my birthday last month. I have never felt old. Ever! Thirty years old, no problem. Forty years old, no problem. Forty-four years old, problem!

I even spent all of my 42nd year thinking I was 43 (long story for another time) and that didn't bother me. But, forty-four has thrown me for a loop. The day of my actual birthday went to crap. I got the usual happy birthday calls, but it just wasn't enough for me. The Sunday before my birthday Tipsy took me to breakfast at a really cool restaurant in Mandeville, and she bought me a very nice cook book. I was so grateful........she always makes a big deal of my birthday. That helped, but I still felt uneasy in my heart. It seems that I've been on a declining slope ever since my birthday.

I've been sleeping a lot lately, which is a sign of depression for me. Negative thoughts have been dancing through my head now and then, but I had been able to shake them off. But, on the drive home from the doctor's office, I could no longer contain myself. I started to think about at my age, my health, my lack of money and my parenting skills in a bad light. Just every single thing I thought of was negative. It was like the devil himself was talking to me. I cried it out. I prayed. I called my mama. I cried and prayed some more. Then I went home and went to sleep.

Today is a better day. I feel rested and restored. I've given some thought about my "incident" yesterday and I've come to the conclusion that some stuff just had to come out. The reason I couldn't be pleased on my birthday is because I DON'T WANT TO BE 44! It had nothing to do with anyone else, it was all me.

I haven't been in therapy for about two years and I don't have an opportunity to share my feelings and fears often. I've gone through a lot in the past two years......moving from Ohio, having a baby, getting married and buying a house and then moving again, then turning one year from 45. Not having that "unbiased, outside" person to talk to has left me stuffing some of my thoughts and fears. Not good.

But, in my right mind I know I am so very blessed and I have so many things to be thankful for, a great marriage, healthy happy children and a family who loves me. I just need some help putting things in perspective sometimes. So, as part of my new Take Care of Angie First Campaign, I've made an appointment with a therapist.

Like I said before , "Today is a better day."

Too Cute to Breath

2011-02-07T12:23:00.002-12:00

C-Pap Machine

About five years ago I was diagnosed with sleep apnea ( not getting enough oxygen while sleeping and tired during waking hours). I had to use a c-pap machine to help me breath while I sleep. At the time I was living in Ohio alone. I was so tired and sleep deprived I would have done anything to get some real rest. So, I used the c-pap every time I went to sleep, and it worked. Within a few weeks I felt rested when I woke up. It was great. Especially, since no one had to see me wearing it, except my daughter when she came to visit.

Then about 4 years ago I met Mr. Angie. We dated long distance for a year because he lived in Louisiana, and as I said before I was living in Ohio. When he'd come up there to visit for weekends I would forgo using the c-pap, because I would look like this :

And that was not the look I was going for, even though my mask looked more like this:

You get the picture. NOT CUTE!

I used the c-pap less and less between his visits, and pretty soon I convinced myself that I didn't need it any more. Yep, I was healed! I moved back to Louisiana almost two years ago, and my c-pap has been in the box I packed it in ever since. I became preggers after being home for only a few months. Subsequently, I had terrible nausea and vomiting the entire time. I couldn't stand to smell anything! So there was no hooking my self up to that plastic smell. And I was too sick to care if I was sleepy or not.

Well here we are today, and I don't give a damn about being cute! I need some rest. I went to the doctor today. He examined me and scheduled me for a sleep study. Which I will be happily attending. (A night away from the baby and an Ambian, thank you Lord!) I'll probably have to get a new c-pap because they've been upgraded a few times since I got the old one.

I showed Mr. Angie how I look wearing the sleep mask and you know what, he was like, "Girl, ain't nothing wrong with that thing - you betta put it on so yo ass can breath!" Aww, isn't he sweet? And rest assured no c-pap face mask or tubes will stop him from trynna git some. o_0

Anyway, I got my mind right. I am not too cute to breath.

Randomness

2011-02-02T14:18:00.002-12:00

Steve Harvey works on my nerves. Nothing to do with the issues between him and his ex-wife, he just works on my nerves.

There should be a Barnes & Noble's in every town. I miss hanging out there.

I'm so ready to start renovating the house.

I apparently need more roughage in my diet. : (

My husband and I need to get out more (alone).

The weather here is funky, cold and wet! I like the cold, not the wet.

My son finally got his second front tooth. It came in so very slow and the other one is kind of big. One big tooth and a space is not a good look. Welcome second front tooth, you had me worried for a minute.

I wanted to marry the guy who played Shaka Zulu when I was young. *Crickets*

I'm wondering how I can get one of the "house shows" to come and re-do my house.

I think I'm gonna grow my hair out. I've been wearing it short for about 3 years now.

.......But Gawd!

2011-01-23T11:55:00.002-12:00

I visited a church today for the second and last time. After I went the first time I said I wasn't going back but I did anyway. I mean it this time, I'm not going back. The minister talks in this infomercial voice that I can't stand and they do a lot of "form and fashion" stuff I don't care for. When I say form and fashion, I mean, stuff for show. The "tithers" get to take their offering up to the alter, while the people who don't or can't tithe sit and watch. What part of the game is that? What, shame the non-tithers into tithing by singling them out? Hmmm, maybe some people tithe but just don't like to get up? Also, there is too much shit on their offering envelope for my nerves too. Tithe, offering, seed offering, debt free offering, and Pastor's love offering......stop it! Y'all gittin' six dollars, split it up however ya see fit.

Well, this morning I again promised myself, "No, you will not be coming here again, I don't care if you have to go to the Catholic church with Mr. Angie and do the up-and-down-on-yo-knees dance." Here's what did it, the Minister was hyping up the congregation with the ".......But Gawd!" piece. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this, it goes something like this, "I could have been dead sleepin' in my grave, but Gawd!" and on and on like that. The straw that broke my fat camels back was when Reverend Infomercial said, "I could be wearing my shoes on my head and my hat on my feet, but Gawd!"

If you know anything about me you know I laughed. Out loud. And my shoulders went up and down a lot while I laughed. I laughed so hard I had to take off my glasses and wipe my eyes. Yep, no more Reverend Infomercial for me. I can't laugh quiet enough for that foolishness. Your hat on your feet?! C'mon man! Really......you are doing to damn much to sound all old and religious. Your shoes on your head? Again, C'mon man!

I used to go to church with my grandmother when I was a little girl, and there was this old deacon who would pray the longest prayer know to man every communion Sunday. He used to say all kinds of funny stuff in his prayer. My favorite was, "Thank ya Gawd for not lettin' my bed be my coolin' bowd (sounds like bode)." Even then I giggled, thinking, you have to cool off on a board when you die? Can't you just cool off wherever you die? How cool do you have to be before they can take you off the "coolin' board"?

See, I'm too silly to go to back to that church. If anyone knows of a good Baptist, Full Gospel or Non-Denominational Church in or near Slidell Louisiana, please let a sistah know. Clearly, I need Jesus. o_O

To Speed or Not to Speed

2011-01-22T14:03:00.002-12:00

I've got a few hours to myself because the little man went to bed extremely early this evening, which means he'll be up in the middle of the night looking at me all crazy. But, for now I'm free!

I finally got my desk cleaned off and put my to do list and goals for the year on paper. Both are staring down on me from their perch on my bulletin board right now. I feel a sense of accomplishment just from getting them printed out and up there. My inspiration is, "And the LORD answered me, and said, Write the vision, and make it plain on tables, that he may run that reads it." Habakkuk 2:2

I am the runner. And I need to see it written plainly and run towards the vision and all that make it possible. I have to imagine myself running.....not waking, because only running relays the sense of urgency I feel about my life now. It seems like my thirties just flew by and next month I'll be turning 44. Hell, that's almost midway my life if I live to be in my late eighties (I'm hoping for 100). So, I have a lot of living to get done in this second act. I've got places to see and people to meet. I want to do and experience so many things while I'm able.

I read an article this morning about a new movement in "Slow Living." The point of slow living is to do everything on purpose and be conscious of doing it. For instance eating more slowly and enjoying the experience. Really paying attention to everything and taking it in slowly. I think that's an interesting concept. I'm surprised someone else has finally come around to my way of thinking about things. I like to pay attention to the little things and enjoy the movement of my life. I'm so thankful for everything in my life right now I can't even tell you. Many times every day I thank God for my life, my family and my friends.

Here's to slow livin'. I think I'll have a glass of wine and practice living slow.

Up-Date This House! #1

2011-01-14T15:59:00.001-12:00

We've been in our new (to us) house for almost 4 months now, and have made zero changes. What's crazy about that is the first time I took a tour of the house I saw hundreds of changes I would have to make if we decided to buy. The house was built in the late 60's and it looks like the prior owner bought the current appliances in the late 70's. You know the Br.ady B.unch wall oven, wall paper on bathroom walls, and ....wait for it........paneling. The dark brown paneling in the great room has become the bane of my existence. I don't have a problem putting in a little sweat equity so the paneling didn't scare me at first - I thought I'd just take it down and paint the walls. Well, after closer inspection, I realized there is no dry-wall behind the paneling. What the hell?!! Who does that?

Mr Angie is fine with the paneling. He says it's cozy. What?! Oh, it's cozy because he doesn't want to deal with taking it down, plus his ass is country enough to think dark brown paneling is cozy. *sigh*

Anyway, we went looking at tile for the sun room the other day at the Ho.me De.pot and damn it that shit is high! Mr Angie was looking at the expensive stuff and I had moved all the way over to the damn Linoleum aisle. It's the sun room man, I'm not trynna do all that. I know you're thinking, "But not the Linoleum, hunh?" My answer to that is yes, yes the gottdamm Linoleum. Ya'll know I ain't got no job! And Mr. was over there looking at that high ass tile, but he ain't really trying to dole out that kind of money for tile.......he likes to window shop. Not me. I like to look at the stuff I can afford, figure out how to make it mine, and move on it. Period. "Sir, can you cut me off enough of dis here Linoleum to cover 297 square feet please?" We're done.

I gotta get the sun room together first. I need at least one room to reflect me and my style. Not to mention I always wanted a sun room to sip coffee and read in. So, that's the first project on the Up-Date House Tour. I'll try to post pics of the process.

I don't deep condtion my hair anymore.....

2010-12-12T19:21:00.001-12:00

I've decided to stop reading other blogs so much. There are a few I usually read every day and as soon as I read them I'm sorry I did. Don't get me wrong their blogs are great....their lives are great. That's the problem. I feel totally inadequate and mentally challenged in comparison to these chicks. They cook, sew, direct and produce movies, go out to dinner and have drinks, deep condition their hair, know the latest fashions, work out, eat healthy, tweet, travel, down load pictures the same day they take them, and on and on.

I do not! I can't! Well wait, I can, but I can't right now, because I have a one year old baby. I can and do cook, but it's not so enjoyable with a small person pulling on your leg and sometimes pulling your pants down (while whining). I can sew, but I have to do everything at night when the little prince is asleep - it's not happening during the daytime. I'd like to have dinner and drinks with friends, however I don't have a baby sitter and all but one of my friends were not crazy enough to have a baby at retirement age and they can go out whenever they want to. Uhh this is tuning into a rant....let me pull up.

Woosaaah.

I'm going to have to find some blogs for stay at home moms with small children. I need to see some other women with boogers and breast milk on their shirts. It's sad, but yes I need to see other women with the same struggles I'm having right now.

My little man started walking yesterday and let me tell you.....seeing him reach these milestones make all the rest of this worth it for me. His funny teeth and silly laugh keep me off the ledge. So, bye bye fashionista blogs, and blogs about fly women doing it up big. Hello to mommy doing it up small blogs.

Damn a Hayride!

2010-10-31T16:22:00.001-12:00

Since I've moved out to the sticks I live closer to Tipsy than anyone else. She's been in the area for a couple of years so she knows the area and she's been showing me around - and I appreciate it.

Yesterday our adventure included the Prejudice White People's Hayride & Festival. Note: We were the only four African-Americans in attendance. First of all, I think all hayrides should be held in the daytime, and this one started at 5:30 p.m., so I was a little skeptical. And it turns out I had every right to be.....

When we arrived only half an hour after the shindig began we were told we could not go on the hay ride because their were no more "tickets." A older white lady in a Witchy Poo costume explained to those of us waiting to get tickets (not purchase them, the hayride was free) that they only printed 30 tickets for the hayride and had run out. What the?! There were around 60 people in line at the time she told this tale. So, a few of the other PWPHF goers balked and argued. Tipsy and I took our kids and kept it moving.

I've never been on a hayride before and I thought it would be fun - but it wasn't a big deal for me if we couldn't go. However, Tipsy's little one is 4 years old and had been looking forward to her first hayride all day, so she was disappointed. We moved on to the puppet show, but Tipsy kept an eye on the hayride line so we'd know how to proceed. After the puppet show we went over to the Ring Toss game so Tipsy's little one could play the game. The object of the game was to toss a ring over an apple on a stick. The prize was a very small apple. Well, let's just say Tipsy's baby won't be able to get a job as a ring thrower, however, I thought for sure she'd be given an apple for her effort. I thought wrong. The old white guy manning the game asked her to move aside and went on to the kid in line behind her. I WAS FURIOUS!

Baby girl cried and Tipsy consoled her and we walked away. At that point I was ready to go the eff home. Tipsy spied the hayride line moving so she went to check it out. Meanwhile, I'm watching little white kids playing the apple toss game. A few of the little kids missed by a mile or walked up to the apple on the stick and placed the ring over it...and they got a gottttdammm tiny apple. I was too through!

Tipsy found out we could take the hayride without a ticket - like all of the other white people in line. Ughhh! So off to stand in that line we went. At this point mosquitoes the size of humming birds were biting the hell out of Tipsy (on her forehead of all places) and it was totally dark. By this time my 11 month old (who I had been carrying on my hip for what seemed like hours) started to get cranky because he was hungry and sleepy. I was done, done, done with the PWPH&F!

I took my baby to the car fed him and put him to sleep. While I sat pondering my situation I wanted to shake the negative thoughts swirling in my brain, so I prayed. I thank God for the beautiful weather that day, I thanked him for Tipsy and her baby girl, and I asked him to bring them back to the car safe. After all they had just went off into the woods at night on a wagon full of mean white people. lol Praying helped me feel better about the whole thing.

If we had it all to do over again I think I'd put Tipsy's baby girl back in the ring toss line and tell her to walk up to the apple and place the ring over it, like some of the white kids did. Then if he didn't give her an apple ask him why not and handle it from there. At least that way she would have probably gotten an apple. I was too focused on the guy treating her unfairly so I wasn't thinking of a way to get around him.

So, here's what I learned from that experience, #1 I have to develop thicker skin if I'm going to remain in this community and have peace, #2 I should always take my own car, and #3 See title of post.

Quiet Night and Apologies

2010-10-16T17:08:00.001-12:00

It's late and the house is quiet. I like this time. I'm getting used to the new house, its sounds and smells. I'm starting to get into a lil groove in my office/sewing/writing room. I'm trying to decide what color to paint it. I'm tempted to paint everything green - my favorite color.

The baby is getting used to sleeping in his bed in his new room. And it feels so good to put him in his bed and have grown up time. I'm starting to feel like myself again, slowly but surely.

I need to write more. I need it. It makes me better in a lot of ways. It gives me an outlet for my thoughts and it's proof to myself that I'm still Me.

One of my best friends dad died yesterday. She and I have known each other for almost thirty years, so we've been through a few things together. We both had contentious relationships with our fathers when we were teenagers. I've become much closer to my dad as an adult and we've pretty much ironed out most of our issues. I don't know if my friend and her dad ever worked out their differences. I don't know if her dad ever said the things daddy's need to say to their daughters after they haven't been very good fathers. It doesn't change the past but it does help us to know that they know they screwed up and that they regret it.

My daughter and her dad have had conversations about his short comings as a parent. She still has a few issues with him, but I know it helped to hear him take responsibility for his failures and try to make amends.
I hope my friend had that time with her dad before he passed away.

Happy Birthday to Mykiddo !

2010-09-11T15:25:00.000-12:00

I was 22 when I had my daughter. I thought I knew every damn thing. Though I was very responsible for 22, I didn't know half the stuff I thought I knew. For starters, I didn't know myself. I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. I didn't know what I wanted from a man (that didn't stop me from getting married that year too.) I didn't know my worth and I didn't know how much God loved me.

My beautiful daughter turned 21 yesterday, which forces me to look back at my 21st year.

She is pretty much doing what I was doing when I was 21. I was attending college, working and I had a serious boyfriend. Money for school was scarce, I didn't like my job and my relationship with my boyfriend was rocky. Then the following year I dropped out of college got pregnant and married. Just like that. What a difference a year made! I was divorced a few years later and it took me nearly twenty years to return to college and I still have not graduated. As they say, herein lies the rub.

I want so much more for my daughter. So much more. I want her to make decisions that are in her best interest - decisions that are based on her knowledge of her worth and knowing herself. It takes some of us longer than others to aquire that kind of self-knowledge and self-value. I don't want it to take her as long as it took me to get it.

So, I worry, and I pray, and I talk to her CONSTANTLY. That's all I know to do. I try to impress upon her how much difference a year can make in her life and how one desision can affect the rest of her life . But, she's 21. She thinks she knows everything, just like I did. That scares the hell out of me and makes my heart heavy.

All I can do is what I've been doing and continue to pray that her 22nd and subsequent years will be well spent, productive and happy.

Where Did Angie Go?

2010-08-25T13:08:00.000-12:00

I used to be smart. Now, not so much.

After Tipsy had her baby she said she felt "dumb." I pooh - poohed her, and told her she's still the same person, blah, blah, blah. I didn't think much of it at the time.

Now that my baby is 8 months old I'm experiencing the "I'm dumb" phenomena. I don't know things I used to know, like how to spell stuff. And I'm a good speller.....well I used to be. It's sometimes difficult for me to sort out my thoughts and I can't remember stuff that just happened. I'm blaming it all on having a baby, but truth be told it could be because my as is getting old. I mean 43 isn't so old, but when you throw a baby in the mix you feel all forty-three of those years.

You know what as I'm typing this I'm thinking about other reasons I could be turning into a ~~slow witted jackass~~ "mentally challenged person." One reason may be, I'm not getting enough sleep. Then there's the not eating right, and sometimes I forget to take my vitamins. I don't take enough time for myself anymore (hence the sporadic blogging).

I wonder if as the baby grows and I can get back to my old schedule, will I also get the full use of my brain back?

Hope so. I miss being smart.

Random Thoughts and Musings

2010-08-14T18:29:00.000-12:00

I intend to be debt free soon. I used to hate to hear financial planners and Sooozie Ormaaan talking about money matters. Hearing them made me feel afraid and ashamed of the mess I've made of my finances. Recently I've gathered up all of my bills and assessed my debt. I've been reading financial help books and researching the best ways to save money and get out of debt. I feel so much better about the prospect of getting out from underneath this debt.

I'm much skinnier in my mind than I am in reality. LOL Do other people do that too?

My sister and her 16 year old daughter look like twins. My sister has the real life body that I only have in my mind......but she thinks she's fat. : (

My daughter has always seemed proud of me or at least not ashamed of me, but I just met her boyfriend today and she's been dating him for three or four years now. What's up with that?

I wonder what kind of man my son will be?

I wish I had met my husband when we were both younger so we could have had more time together.

.......and I deserve it.

2010-07-22T16:25:00.001-12:00

The Best Teacher Ever

Long ago, when I was young and naive I wanted a knight in shining armor to come along and take me away. I wanted him to take care of me and make all that was wrong in my world right.

Needless to say, that never happened. It never does. There are no knights in shining armor. That is ~~bullshit~~ a fairy tale.

Not so long ago, when I was a little older and wiser, I met someone who taught me how to take care of myself and right the wrongs in my life on my own. And right around the time I began to fully understand that I'm my own knight in shining armor I met my now husband.

He is no perfect knight in shining anything. But, he is a good man and he does "good man stuff." He treats me with love and respect. He's honest with me, and he has mine and my children's best interest at heart. He is consistent and reliable. He is loving and kind. And he sees me. After you've saved yourself who could ask for anything more?

Thanks Irma C for teaching me that I deserve it.

What Kind Of Uniform Is That ?

2010-07-11T14:35:00.001-12:00

Saturday night I decided I'd catch the early service at church. In preparation I pulled a "nice" shirt out of the closet, and a pair of jeans from the dirty clothes hamper. I saw that the jeans had a baby
puke spot on the left leg. No problem, I can take them to the IBC in the morning. That's the Ironing Board Cleaners. You just wipe the spot with a towel on the ironing board. I'm sure the mothers out there know what I'm talking about.

Sunday morning I over slept a little bit, but no problem, I laid my clothes out the night before right? All I had to do was take a shower, iron my clothes and hit the road right?

I took a quick shower and headed to the ironing board. I performed the IBC and started ironing the jeans. Upon flipping them over I noticed there was baby puke on the other pant leg as well. Eff me! So, I IBC'd the other leg too. When I picked up the shirt to iron it I noticed it looked like it'd been worn. So, I gave it the "sniff test", and sure enough there was the aroma of "Yes, I have been worn, and no, you did not wash me!" Wait, it gets better - no, worse! I had worn the shirt to work right before I found out I was pregnant, and apparently hung it back up in the closet, sans laundering. I became sick and stopped working soon after that. That was about a year and a half ago.

So, off to church I went, wearing my "Motherhood has kicked my entire ass" uniform. Yep, I proudly lifted my hands in praise while wearing a 18 month aged musty shirt, Similac stained jeans, no earrings and sandals which showcased my ashy toes. Hallelujah anyhow!

You better say somthin' !

2010-07-09T15:19:00.001-12:00

Today my cousin and I were talking about our family and how certain miscommunications have caused problems. Our conversation caused me to think about my personal life and how miscommunication has affected me. With me it's not so much saying things the wrong way, or leaving out facts. I miscommunicate by omission. There have been hundreds of times I didn't say what I wanted to say or needed to say, and I have just as many excuses why I didn't. That's exactly what they are, excuses. The real reason has amounted to one thing. FEAR.

Mind you, I don't have this problem with people in general, just with people who mean a lot to me.The responses I imagined would be the result of my speaking out to my loved ones were very scary for me. Maybe the person would be angry or hurt. Maybe they wouldn't love me anymore. Maybe they would leave me. Maybe they would think less of me, think I was weak or silly. I thought I'd be giving them power to hurt me if I expressed my feelings .........made myself vulnerable. I thought I'd be crushed by any negative response to my speaking up.

I have been dead wrong in my thinking.

I have taken feelings from my childhood and carried them over to my adult life - and they have served me poorly. Fear paralyzes. You can't move, concentrate or think clearly when you're afraid. Fear can literally kill you if you live with it long enough. It causes stress which in turn causes various health problems. It causes wrong thinking which stunts personal growth. Sometimes fear immobilizes us and we can't "run" when we need to.

I'm learning to step out of fear. It's still a little scary, but it's liberating at the same time. I tell myself in order to live in peace and be true to yourself you have to do this. It also helpful for me to first examine my motives, then pray and ask God to speak through me......help me find the right words to say what I have to say in love. So far, so good.

What's Really Real ?

2010-04-14T16:31:00.005-12:00

I'm still surprised at my gullible nature. My sister has describes it as my having as many pairs of "rose colored glasses" as Fred Sanford had reading glasses in his drawer of glasses. I just tend to take things and people at face value. I've always done that - much to my detriment. And I'm still stunned and amazed when I find out I've been duped.

During a conversation with my sister the other day she said, "Shit ain't sound right tah me." She said this in response to something she heard one of her teenage daughter's friend say. Now, when she first repeated what was said , it sounded perfectly reasonable to me. However, upon hearing the same thing she immediately knew something was amiss....turns out she was right.

Why does her brain say, "this does not add up", and my brain says, "sounds okay to me" ?

I wonder how many times as a teenager my daughter told me "stories" that I fell for hook line and sinker. How many times did boyfriends or husbands tell me bold face lies, and I was never the wiser. Did they think to themselves, "Damn, she'll believe anything!" ?

I went to a bookstore tonight to read (not buy) the new K.itt.y Ke.lly biography on Oprah. I skimmed through it looking for the juicy secrets K.itt.y promised on the morning talk shows. And as I read a few goodies I started to think about how whenever my Significant Other, (hereafter referred to as Lomy Li) said many of the things I read about O, I balked. Not that Miss KK should be believed over Lomy Li, just sayin'.

There's a blog that I've followed religiously for nearly four years. In all of that time I've been secretly jealous of the blogger because her life seemed to be perfect. She has a career, a handsome husband, the cutes kids and a great home. She seemed to have it all and all the answers to boot. She never wrote about dumb mistakes, insecurities or fears. I wanted to be just like her when I grow up. Then, she effed me up. In one of her posts she mentioned a riff between her and her husband which caused them not to speak to each other for over a week. What?! You mean to tell me it's not all giggles over there in Perfect Land? A week? Wow. I had to reassess my assessment of this woman's life and recognize she is human just like me. Her life is not perfect. She just doesn't write about all of the imperfections. I'm not saying she's trying to sell a fairy tale, she just doesn't tell her business like that.

But why would I think it was perfect anyway? Why didn't I think to myself, "Shit ain't sound right tah me."?

Very Good Friday

2010-04-02T15:39:00.005-12:00

Today was a good day.

Nothing extraordinary happened....well, maybe something extraordinary did happen. I did something for myself for a change. I had a mani and a pedi sans baby. Yes! That was great.

I love getting my feet and hands done. I just feel better when my nails look good. I feel like a lady. I also went to see my sisters new house, which is FABULOUS. And I went to a crawfish boil. Yes sir! Crawfish, corn, potatoes, and the works. And I didn't mess up the nails baby.

Yep, today was a good day.

Home Again, Home Again !

2010-03-21T13:18:00.008-12:00

Well, it's been a while but I'm back. It'll probably take a few post to get you all up to speed on my life, so here we go.........

Remember the story of Tipsy? Well it happened to me! Yep, at the ripe old age of 42 I gave birth to the most beautiful baby boy in the entire universe. He's four months old now and I haven't had a full nights rest since he was born. But that's a story for another time. I've been back home in New Orleans for a little over a year. My daughter is now twenty years old, which is also a story for another time.

I still miss Ohio. I miss the weather, the friends I made there, and my therapist. I wish I could have brought them all back here with me.

My new life is just as crazy as my old one. I'm in love with a big ashy country feller - and he's quite smitten with me. I'm a stay at home mom whose ready to break out. My children being 20 years apart is fodder for many a joke at my expense. So we've got lots to catch up on.

Get some coffee and settle in for the ride.

My, How You've Grown

2009-02-22T15:19:00.005-12:00

One way to see how much you've grown is to examine your past and present reaction to challenges and pain in your life. I had a growth check recently.....when someone I care deeply about hurt me.

In the past I've always reacted to hurt with stubborn indifference and prompt removal from the situation. If I had to leave the person, place or thing that I saw as the cause of my hurt or disappointment I would do it - no matter what.

The rush to removal has cost me . I've left relationships and friendships before there was sufficient cause to do so . Sometimes I've taken proactive measures and found an exit when I perceived a hurt or disappointment approaching.

I learned that pattern long ago and I practiced it every chance I got. My enthusiastic Fuc U approach has garnered many compliments from female friends and relatives. They've often said that they wished they could leave a guy and cut ties the way they'd seen me do so often. They thought it was easy. I even convinced myself it was easy. But it's not easy, it's just what I had gotten used to. It didn't take courage or confidence to jet. Leaving had become my natural reaction to fear of pain, as natural as breathing in and out.

What really takes courage is to learn a new way of reacting. A long time ago I read somewhere that everything that human beings do or don't do is motivated by fear. And if you think about it - its true in many cases. ie. I can't choose that major because it requires too much math and I'm afraid I will fail. I don't drive over the speed limit because I'm afraid of getting a ticket, jail and an insurance payment increase. I go to work on time because I m afraid of losing my job.
So, I had to ask myself what fear motivated my quick disposal of the perceived givers of hurt. The best answer I could come up with is, I was afraid of being further hurt, and having it happen over and over again and not being able to stop it. After thinking long and hard about it I realized I let people into my life who I suspected would hurt me partly because I knew I could play the whole "I don't put up with no shit, get out!" thing. Sick, I know......thank God for therapy.

At the ripe old age of 43 I've made a realization about myself. Somewhere in the last four years I learned a new kind of courage. I saw this shiny new courage in action when I was hurt by a person I love with my entire heart. Don't misunderstand me, I was still hurt. I cried and I felt sick to my stomach for two days. But I didn't revert back to my previous role as the professional Peace Out ! queen. This time I thought it through, I was honest with the person about my feelings and I was open to a solution to the problem and a salve for my hurt feelings.

When it was all over I felt great. I was so proud of myself. Listen, I'm not bragging, I've been there with Me and I know! It has not been an easy ride. I deserve to give my self an atta-girl.
It's great to look back at my progress and marvel.

This metamorphosis didn't happen over night. It took some time and I had to do the work. It all came down to my fear of living the rest of my life in Fear.

First You Make A Roux

2009-01-04T11:27:00.019-12:00

That's the first line of many recipes in Louisiana. You ask, "Mama, how do you make gumbo?" She answers, "First you make a roux......."

If you're 7 years or older you don't have to ask, "What is roux, and how do you make it?" But you may ask, "What color, or how dark?" The answer to those questions vary from cafe au lait colored to peanut butter to dark chocolate. The color of the roux determines the color and taste of the gravy or sauce.

Upon the approach of my move back to New Orleans - I'm wondering what color or how dark I should make my "The Move Home" roux.

Should I make a blond roux, like I would for a cream sauce? That would do for small tasks like sipping sugary cafe au lait at Cafe Du Monde, eating beignets and reading the Sunday paper. If I make it the shade of powder foundation my aunt Lorita wears it might work to get me pass continuing to pay the toll to cross the Crescent City Connection - 25 years after the promised pay off date. Perhaps peanut butter would prevent me from saying numerous curse words when it's no where near closing time and the girl at the drive through of my favorite Popeye's Chicken Restaurant tells me, "We ain't got no chicken!" Roux the color of Denzel Washington would work when I have to face the over-lay of gloom and depression painted onto my city. I'm sure I'll need a a dark chocolate color roux to stand up to all of the things that played into my decision to move away in the first place.

There's a darker roux -but you have to be really careful not to cross over to the burnt roux line. It takes a skilled roux maker to get a really dark roux just right. The dark roux can carry almost anything. I can make the darker roux - but I hope I don't have to.

Hey Nineteen

2008-11-29T08:55:00.001-12:00

My 19 year old daughter showed up at 6:30 this morning after staying out all night. My sister with whom she lives was worried and upset. I was worried and upset. We did the usual talking points…….and went off to get ready for work.

I’m sitting here at my desk trying to sort out my feelings about all of this.

This is a precarious time for my daughter and me. Legally she is an adult. She can vote, drive and obtain credit cards. In theory, she’s old enough to make important decisions that will affect her life for years or even a lifetime. She is physically mature. In fact her body belies her youth and screams grown woman. She is intelligent, well rounded and socially adept. With all of that said, so was I at her age.

It’s amazing how much we didn’t know when we thought we knew everything. In hindsight the miniscule amount of information we know about ourselves and the world is staggering.

Frankly, I’m horrified. Sitting here with my forty-one year old cache of life skills and experience, I can’t help but be concerned for my child. Yes, that’s right, “my child.” As long as we live on this planet together, that’s what she will be to me. My child. Much of what we do as parents is geared toward protecting and guiding our children. It’s engrained in us so much so – that we see danger and snares a mile away. When danger appears we want to scream, “Watch out for that car, get out of the way!” But to the young person our warnings come across as unwarranted and over reactive.

She’s too old for a spanking or a preteen beat down. She’s too young to be told, “Peace out, figure it out ya damn self!” So, all I know to do is pray and talk to her when I can, and hang the hell up when I can’t. But it’s hard.

Sugar Daddy

2008-08-21T12:24:00.000-12:00

I need to spend more time with my daddy. He’s getting older and I can’t ignore his mortality anymore. He wears his age well but I see a much older man than the invincible daddy of my childhood. He and I have had a contentious relationship for the better part of my young life. We’re friends now, but the road has been long and winding.

As I grew up and made my own mistakes I realized how he must have felt when I stood in judgment of him. Sometimes, I literally hated him. I thought he was the devil incarnate. I don’t think he was the devil now, but I know he was a willing conduit for the devil at many different times in his life. I believe I felt such a strong hatred towards him because our relationship began with me worshipping him. I had to fight hard to hate him, because I still wanted him to be the daddy I used to worship. I still wished he could be a good husband to my mamma, and a good father to me. Since I still had that hope, I’d let the hatred ebb for a minute to check to see if he had changed. Of course he didn’t change – so the hatred again flowed. That cycle repeated itself throughout my teenage years.

When I was in my early twenties I softened to him a bit. I think the birth of my daughter gave me a different perspective on being a parent. I took off a few pieces of my armor and extended an olive branch to him - but I was still cautious. Looking out for that gut-punch feeling I got when he did something to hurt me. Checking over my shoulder to see if my armor was still there because I might need it at anytime. That time never came.

I can’t remember my daddy ever being really angry with me. Even when I wished him dead, well not dead, but I certainly wished for grave bodily harm to befall him immediately. He took responsibility for his failings and patiently waited for my heart to change. Over the years I let my guard down as much as I could – but I did test him from time to time. I’d have a flashback of one of the laundry list of shit he’d done in the past. So I’d bring those things up and watch for him to deny responsibility for his actions or try some revisionist history crap. But he stood firm and put my hurt and fragile feelings ahead of his feelings of guilt and shame.

Now 20 years later I love to see him. I love to sit beside him and feel arm his pressed up against mine. He and I laugh and joke like we’re old friends. He is not perfect, in fact he can say some downright “ignit” shit sometimes, but I accept him as he is. I know that some of his feisty ways are part of who I am, and I like that. When I’m with him I feel special and loved unconditionally. I know that he “gets” me. He doesn’t judge me or chide my own foolish behavior the way I did him.

I love to look at him. He’s gone from a good looking, cocky man who talked a lot of shit to a serene, handsome, regal looking older man. He still talks shit, but I like that about him.

When I sit beside my daddy now I feel like I’m eating warm pecan candy.

Ready? Set? Go!

2008-07-31T09:18:00.003-12:00

I'm ready to go home. For a while I never thought I'd say that.

I moved here three years and eleven months ago. Immediately, I fell in love with the away -from-home-ness of it and the unfamiliar weather. The coldish people and the bland food took a little longer to grow on me. The expanse of the unfamiliar gave me room to grow. Room to think. I've heard myself think more in the last four years than I have my whole life. I was free to open up to new thinking, new ideas, and to freedom.

I had no excuses. There was nothing and no one standing in the way of me creating the life I want for myself. So, that's what I did.

I erected a new life for Angie. I catered to myself. I made a peaceful and serene space for my self. I read. I went to school. I connected with a friend/mentor/therapist/guide. I sent my baby back out into creation to test her 18 year old wings. I made new friends and I made friends with myself. I got sick and I healed more than a few times. I reconnected with God in a way that I never thought possible. I forgave my demons and laid them to rest.

Now it's time for the next step, the next breath, the next adventure, the next joy, the next lesson.

I feel much the way I did when it was time to move four years ago. Anxious. Excited. Hopeful and ready. I'm preparing for my next season so I'll be set and I'll go.

Call me, here’s my number and a dime…..

2008-05-02T10:07:00.003-12:00

I made the call.

The call I’d been afraid to make for five years. To say I was afraid is not completely honest. At first I was angry, “Damn her! I hope I never have to talk to her again!” Next, I was uneasy, “I hope I don’t see her out somewhere. That would be awkward.” After I left the state I felt relieved and removed from the possibility of having to face her. Finally here, five years later – I was feeling guilty. “Damn, I should call her.”

After I stepped back from the situation I could see the players with more clarity. My co-starring role in the play became more apparent – at which point I realized that I had not been totally correct in my actions and reactions. If fact, I had been dead wrong, hence the guilt.

(Hummph! Who needs all this damn clarity?!? )

So, I called her. The friend I had buried away somewhere in my memories. The one who had been like a sister to me. The one who’s friendship I cherished. So, you know I’m nervous right? I dialed four digits and hung up. “Ummm, I need to pray.” After a quick petition for guidance and courage I went on and dialed the number. The phone seemed to ring forever….giving me time to think….”what if she’s mad?”……..what if she doesn’t want to talk to me?.........what if she asks me why I didn’t call sooner? Then I heard her say, “Hello.” And I think I heard myself say “Hello.” When she recognized my voice she said, “Angie?!?” and I said, “Urban Red?!?”, and that was all it took. It was as if we had just spoken yesterday.

No angry words or recriminations – and none of the ugly scenes I played out in my head came to pass. It was exactly the right time for both of us, therefore natural and genuine. I apologized for a laundry list of things and she did too. We caught up on each others lives and families. We said we love each other and parted with heavy sighs and light hearts.

I’m glad I made the call.

Write About You?

2008-04-17T11:32:00.004-12:00

I don't do blog requests. You've asked me to write about you - but I just can't.
When I try to write about someone because they've asked me to, it comes across as contrived and flat. That's why I don't do blog requests.

See, I wouldn't be able to translate the happy warm feeling I get when I talk to you.

If I tried to explain how you make me laugh until I cry, it wouldn't come out right.I can't adequately describe the way we act like 13 year olds, saying silly things and using silly voices. How we talk about people....Muzzai...The Mayor...Sour Butt...Cacklin' Hens. It' beyond explanation.

If I attempted to express how proud I am of you - it would sound too mushy. Writing about how I'm in awe of you, such a little woman with such a big spirit. Wife, mother, sister, cousin,friend and daughter. To say I don't know how your slight frame can carry so many weighty responsibilities, wouldn't be enough.

I can't assign the proper sentences to explain how you came to see me - and brought a big batch of "home" with you. After all, just saying Zatarains fried catfish, Camelia red beans, and gumbo file' don't capture the essence of the gifts you brought me.

I can't write about how your vision of me picks me up when I can't see it for myself. It's all to complicated to put into words.

So Tiny, do you see why I don't take requests?

Taste This

2008-04-12T13:23:00.002-12:00

Let me cook for you.

Let me take my time, shop for fresh fruit and vegetables. Pick out the best cuts of meat. Lovingly chop seasoning. Carefully measure the perfect amount of each ingredient. Tenderly rub herbs and spices over the leanest of meats. Make the oven warm and ready. Slide my gastronomical present to you into the inviting heat. And wait...

Let me pour wine for you.

Let me remove the cork from the bottle I picked just for you. You like this wine, it's full, and heady, serious but not stoic. I hold the glass up to the light for you and swirl it gently. You watch the slow cascade of color rich in body fall around the inside of the glass. I sit before you watching as you slowly sip. I witness your appreciation of my choice of libation. I watch as the warm seductive sensation of fermented juice of grapes swims around to your tongue. And wait...

Let me feed you.

Let me sit astride your lap and nourish you from the warm aromatic feast prepared for only you. Use my fingers to bring morsels to your lips. Your appetite is sated by the essence of my skin on your food and on your tongue. You eat more than your fill. The sensations derived from licking your very sustenance from my warm hands appeases your stomach but arouses a different kind of hunger. The waiting is over..

Taste this.

What!? No cane?

2008-03-21T10:42:00.000-12:00

I saw a pimp yesterday. Up close and personal. This was my first live sighting. I hope it was my last.

So, I’m sitting near a huge window at Panera. I like to sit near the window so I can people watch when I get tired of reading. This particular Panera is at Easton mall. Not exactly a “pimp spot”, so you can imagine my surprise when I looked up from my book and saw a Pimp! There he was in all his glory. If you’re wondering how I know he’s a pimp – let me lay it out for you. He had on a cream fedora with a red band, eyeglasses that I can only describe as “pimp shades”, the ones with rhinestones covering the entire frame(ya’ll know what I’m talkin’ bout), a blood red suit with silver “squigglies” all over it, white shirt, red tie diamond studded tie pin, red and silver alligator Stacey Adams, and last but not least – A floor length cream mink coat. Now tell me what other profession requires this uniform? I know! Pimping!

He was a nice looking middle aged man with salt and pepper gray hair. He looked like he could be the head deacon at church or something. You know, sans the pimp get-up. Mr. Pimp’s ego complimented his royal gear, and he didn’t seem to like me gawking at him with my mouth agape. So, he beckoned for his “driver”…….yep driver, to open his car door. They were in some kind of huge SUV. Needless to say it was glistening black, all kitted up and flossy. He slid in and they pulled away….heading home to Pimpland.

When I composed my self (I kept looking until they drove away), I looked around to see if anybody else saw what I saw, knowing I was the only black person in the joint. Guess who they were all looking at?!? You got it. Me. And if ya’ll know me at all…..you know what I did. I laughed, and laughed and laughed!

After I stopped laughing, I thought to myself, “why didn’t he have a cane?”

Cafe Au Coocoo

2008-02-14T15:05:00.004-12:00

Insanity: Doing the same thing repeatedly and expecting a different result than previously witnessed. **

I stopped at the gas station filled my tankand purchased a cup of coffee on my way to work this morning. Sounds simple enough doesn’t it. Not so much. I knew better but I did it any way. Never believe the “decaf” label on the carafe. It is a blatant lie. The people who make coffee at these places probably brew the same regular coffee and put it in the decaf carafe. I hate them. I think this happens at your local greasy spoon as well. They probably don’t think it’s a big deal. For those of us who should not have caffeine it is a very big deal.

Caffeine makes me shake and cry. Yep, you read it right. My hands shake my heart races and I cry. I’m not sure what the crying is about. I understand the caffeine elevates my blood pressure and causes my heart to race – but the crying, who knows.

Anyway, I frequently risk drinking something that will completely unhinge me.

I put my physical/mental well being in the hands of the dishwasher at the Stop & Slop. That’s how make the coffee at those places, the guy who also sweeps. He ain’t reading the packages, he couldn’t care less if it’s caffeinated or not.

MyKiddo and Tipsy laugh at me when we’re out somewhere and I order decaf coffee. If the coffee looks suspect, too dark, or smells really strong, I question the waitress about it. “Are you sure this is decaf?” To which they always respond, “Yes maam, it’s decaf.” Hairnet wearing liars!!!!!! I can’t comfortably drink the coffee after this exchange. I look at it, stir in loads of cream and sugar and sip some. I never finish it…..not even half of it. C'mon people give me real decaf!

I know this insanity is self-inflicted. I realize that. But I continue to order decaf coffee. I do it because I like coffee and I don’t think it’s such a big deal to brew a pot of decaf - and I want some!

**(I don’t know who the hell the author is, but I’ve hear it a lot, so I‘m using it!)

What the hell?!

2008-01-17T09:56:00.000-12:00

A year ago Tipsy's old ass had a baby. A beautiful baby girl with the most expressive big brown eyes you ever want to see. (The Beautiful Baby Girl will henceforth be referred to as "BBG") Upon giving birth to the child Tipsy lost her mind. She transformed into "Super Diligent Mom." The woman now lives and breathes BBG. Tipsy doesn't allow her to cry, sweat, fart, or burp without parental supervision, ie. picking her up and holding her. To say that BBG is spoiled is not accurate. She only acts spoiled rotten when she is with Tipsy. When she is with Tipsy's husband she's fine. I kept her for a week while Tipsy and the hubby went on a cruise - she was fine. But when Tispy is around BBG whines, makes sad faces and generally has the woman jumping through hoops. She hits Tipsy on the head and pulls her hair and bites her frequently. Now you may be thinking this co-dependant, cut-up with your mama behavior is born of Tipsy being an older mother (40). It's not.

Take my sister for example, she's 32 and her youngest son is two years old. He is the cutest caramel colored miniature man ever. He is also - the Demon Child. The same cut-up with your mama behavior rears its ugly head with him and my sister. Now don't get me wrong, the boy is ill-tempered all of the time. But he acts a complete fool when his mother is around. He yells at her, ignores her, runs away from her,talks back to her and causes her physical harm when he gets the notion to. And my sister ain't no punk. She spanks, yells, punishes and pinches. I don't think I'm supposed to tell about the pinches, but there it is. The point is, he is unaffected by any of it.

Why do kids act like deranged animals with their mothers?

BBG cries while Tipsy prepares food for her - as if to say "Hurry up slave heffa!". When she was in my care she smiled and helped me pick out what she wanted to eat next. What the hell?!

Demon Child likes to tell folks to "shep-pup", translation, shut up. My sister slaps his lips when he tells her to shut it. But he has come up with a plan to thwart her slapping him. Now when he tells her to "shep-pup!", he slaps himself on the mouth and runs away. Again, I say what the hell?!

Well, they ain't my bad ass kids so I'm gonna go sit over here in the corner and shep-pup......

The End of Auto Pilot

2008-01-07T08:03:00.000-12:00

For the past year or so I've been coasting. I've been floating on whatever winds that blew through. Winds of change,physical frailty, financial lack and mental fucked-up-ness. I've used this coasting as a means of survival, and it has served me well. I've used coasting to float through situations that were to painful for me to face. I've used it as a means to transport my mind from my reality to a more pleasant place. I've got coasting down to a science.

Here's the thing about coasting, if you do it long enough you may forget how to "not coast." Now don't get me wrong - I've always done what I was "supposed" to do. Coasting never prevented me from keeping my obligations. But it has been useful to tint the hue of my rose colored glasses a little darker. I convinced myself that I was doing what I had to do to get through. And maybe that's what it was at first, but somewhere along the line it changed. At some point I stopped facing problems, or maybe I never learned how to face them properly.

Here's what auto-pilot looks like. If/when faced with a problem, uncomfortable situation, work around it. Take the path of least resistance. Work harder. Don't say "no". Suck it up. Remember you're strong enough. You are in control. Just keep plugging along and everything will be fine.

Well, as you may well know all of that is bullshit.

Sometimes it's necessary to face your situation. Take an honest look at it and at yourself. Accept that you cannot control everything all of the time. That sometimes you need help. That you are not perfect. That you are fragile. That you may fail. And that all of the aforementioned are is okay. It's not great, it's not fair, it's not pretty and it's damn hard. But it's okay.

Auto pilot off, wish me luck.

Home?

2007-12-29T08:07:00.000-12:00

I've got so much to catch up with ya'll on......but I'm not ready to go into all of that yet. So, as a diversion - I'll talk about something that's been on my mind for a minute.

Is home ever what you remember it to be?

While I'm here in Ohio I miss home(New Orleans). I miss the scenes I have in my head. The stored memories. I miss the way the people sound and look. They sound familiar and they look familiar. The women and girls look soft and genteel. They carry themselves a certain way....they are charming and beautiful. The men are strong and homey, they're hard working and charismatic.

I went home for a visit Thanksgiving week, and apparently those memories don't match with the New Orleans of today. There's something different about it now. The young ladies look hard, all weaved up and covered in crazy looking clothes. The women look older than they used to. The young men are not familiar to me at all. Their pants are down around the bottom of their butts, I'm serious, all the way down there! The men look different too. I can't even explain how.....but different.

I miss the way it used to be and in my head I pretend it still is. It's not though - it's not like home.

What Did You Just Call Me ?!?

2007-10-22T10:45:00.000-12:00

Apparently I live in denial. My rose colored glasses are more like deep magenta. I walk around thinking things are one way – while they are just the opposite.

Here’s a prime example. I sat behind this handsome guy in my economics class this week. In addition to being handsome this brother is fine. Yes, I did say brother….they are far and few between on Oh-Ess-You’s campus, especially ones with a little swagger. This brother had that swagger – you know personable and confident, but not brash. Anywhoo, after class I asked him a question. He answered, and I said, “Thank you.” To my horror, this man said, “You’re welcome, ma’am.”

I was done for!

I don’t even remember walking out of the classroom. I shook my head and laughed to myself. Yep! This is what it’s come to. He looks like he may be in his 30’s or something. Definitely not his 20’s, and he called me ma’am! Don’t get me wrong – I don’t think I look like a teenager, or a twenty year old, but damn it…..I don’t look like I’m 40!

What makes it even worse is that I thought I looked real cute that evening. I’m sure I had that “I think I got it goin’ on” look on my face. Low and behold, the handsome, fine, swagger havin’ brother broke it down for me in three words…..You’re welcome ma’am.

Ruination of a Tuesday Evening

2007-09-12T11:21:00.000-12:00

Yesterday I went to one of my favorite places to think and to write in my journal. It's a courtyard with a fountain in the center. I like to watch the kids play and listen to jazz (provided by a bistro that sits on the courtyard).

As I walked up to the courtyard I noticed a "gentleman" checking me out. I gave him a hello and kept it moving. When I crossed the courtyard and sat down I noticed him motioning something to me. Well, I can't make out everything he's trying to gesture to me. However, I did manage to get the universal can I have your number sign. You know, make a phone with your hand and put it up to your ear. LOL So, I gesture for him to come closer. He makes some other gestures and I've had enough of the game.....I began writing in my journal. When I looked up from my writing Homie was sitting there with a woman. Like a date or something.....they were definitely "together". What the......!

I was so tempted to walk over there and ask him, "What were you trying to say to me when you were sitting here alone?" But you know what, if he's a dog I'm sure she already knows. Plus I didn't go out there for that type of bullshit. LOL

An hour or so later I walked across the courtyard to leave. Jerkaroni jumps out from nowhere and says he thought he knew me from somewhere.....but dude was walking fast and ducking in and out of corners. It was so funny, and sad at the same time! I asked him was that his wife or girlfriend he was sitting with on the bench. As this fool hid in the corner he told me "No, I was just helping her with something for work." You have to be kidding me! He was hiding from the woman and trying to hit on me! I told him to step.....and walked away shaking my head in disbelief.

Handy Wipes?

2007-08-30T10:02:00.000-12:00

Let me just say I'm desperate. I'm at the library checking emails, surfing and blogging. I'm sort of a germaphobe so this is not a good experience for me. I want to wipe all of this shit down with a disinfectant cloth. The little timer at the top of the screen is ticking away so I'd better hurry. LOL

Lately I've been readjusting to life without Mykiddo - and getting back into the swing of things. After my latest health scares I'm happy to be in one piece. So the girl is gone off to college. Ya'll I'm too young to have a kid in college. I feel like a kid myself. Her old piece of a daddy didn't come thru for her AGAIN. He was supposed to take her and her stuff to school, but he did not. I'm not even going to get into that - except to say, I want to whip his ass.

School starts for me in a few weeks so I'm geared up for that. I'm ready for some normalcy.

Well, I need to go and read Yall's blogs, cuz I miss em.

Where I've Been

2007-08-21T10:20:00.000-12:00

My laptop is on the blink, and I got in trouble for blogging at work. My body is breaking down one part at a time. MyKiddo has left for college. I'm broke on a whole new level.

Now you're up to date! : )

I miss y'all. I'll be back soon.

Are There Any T.C.P. Speakers In The House ?

2007-08-03T06:07:00.000-12:00

My favorite movie in the world has crept into my everyday language? Not just me, some of my friends and family members have been dragged down the path of The Color Purple talk with me. I wonder if there are others out there?

We do it so much I sometimes forget that the dialog is from a movie.....weird hunh?

When Tipsy is trying to dissuade me from having a baby at the ripe old age of 110 like she did, she says, "Don't trade where I been Miss Celie!"

When Spunky reminds me of something I said I would do, and I no longer want to do it, I say, "Ain't no sucha thing paw!"

When MyKiddo gets close up in my face, I say, "You sho is ugleee!"

When a male friend invades my personal space without being invited, I say, "All my life I had ta fight!"

See how this works? There's more.

When my sister and I see each other at the airport and other venues after a long separation, we scream out, "Celie!.......Nettie!" (I'm Celie, she's Nettie) And then we run into each other's arms.

When MyKiddo is feeling silly, she puts her hands on both sides of my face and says, "Mamma, boonie mama......"

When my sister is aggravated about someone giving her unwanted information, she says, "Mary Agnes, ......Mary,who gives a damn!"

When indicating about to get into some type of ignorant altercation I say, "Take my cherrin home, git my chirren outta here!"

When I see a man that I think should like me and he's with another woman, I say, "She don't look nuthin' like me!"

When someone is talking mess and I just don't want to hear it I say, "Shut up you ole fool, Sophia home now!"

Best of all when I see a child acting out in public, I walk right up next to the parent, and under my breath I say, "Beat her." I love that one. It's good for when anyone is acting out. Just say, "Beat her", even if it's a man. Paaaahh! Haaaaa! Haaaa!

If you are a fan of The Color Purple you understand how fitting the above statements are. If you're not - get the movie and practice. It's good to be bilingual.

Please Don't Shoot Me White Lady....

2007-08-01T07:37:00.000-12:00

Did you know that White people are allowed to do whatever they want to at work? They can have a nervous breakdown on Monday......personally call everyone in the office on Tuesday and say all kinds of completely crazy shit........have their spouse call and repeat said crazy shit the next day.........resign....okay training for their replacement........send out "it's been nice working with you all" emails on Thursday........and then RETURN TO WORK ON MONDAY LIKE NOTHING EVER HAPPENED!!!!!!!!!!

Who does this shit?!? Only White people!

We all know that I'm as crazy as a box of rocks, however, I know damn well not to let the crazy rocks spill over at work. Black people know how far to take the "crazy." I know the moment my crazy rocks fall on the floor beside my desk there will be a pink note handed to me. It will be hand delivered - no inter office mail for that shit. The delivery will be executed by Office Security. In addition to handing me the pink note, they will hand me my purse and tell me to get the hell out!

Since the "White and Crazy" is my supervisor - the situation is effecting me directly. She vacillates between hosting meetings to lay down the "new law" and crying hysterically. Senior management is either afraid of her or they don't give a damn. So, I'm finding alternative ways to get to the bathroom that don't include passing her office door and mapping out an escape route in the event she comes in shooting.

It sure must be nice to be a white woman.

G D' s

2007-07-25T03:12:00.000-12:00

After I read Monica's post A Good Dude I began to think about Good Dudes. Do I know any good dudes? Hmmmm. I know a few, but I'm either related to them or they are taken. I don't think I know any good dudes right now.

I knew a good dude - well I guess I still know him. I say he's a GD, because in Monica's criteria, GD's don't string you along. However, this GD did not quit calling me because he realized that I'm not the one - as in Monica's scenario. Nope, he has decided I am not the one BUT he likes me a lot and wants to be my friend.

He calls me almost everyday. We have great stimulating conversations. We've hung out a few times and we have a really good time together. We click. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "maybe you think yall click, but obviously he doesn't." Nope, he talks about how we click, how much we have in common.....blah, blah, blah. But at the end of the day - he wants us to be friends. I HATE THAT SHIT!!!!!

When I meet a GD I do not want to be just friends. I have enough friends who are not GD's. I want him to be the one, know I'm the one and shut the fuck up. Friends?!? I know this sounds unreasonable - but hell it's honest.

Maybe it would be better if he used Monica's scenario and just stopped calling period! Just leave me alone. Stop dangling his GD-ness in my face if I can't have it! All this calling and talking and GD shit makes me like his ass more. It makes me anticipate the calls and hope he will see "the light." That he'll see the wonder of all that is Me! That he'll see that I'm what's hot on the streets! ( LOL !!! I told him the hot on the streets thing......I'm sick, I know.)

The sane thing to do would be just hang out with him. Let what happens happen. If it's not to be, it won't. Don't limit myself to seeing only him. Keep it moving. I get it - however there is this . Frutting impairs sane judgment - even with GD's.

Friends???!!!!???? I'm what's hot on the streets nucca!

Watchoo Lookin' Fo

2007-07-23T01:43:00.000-12:00

You know that feeling you get when you're looking for something. For instance, you misplaced your keys - and you're ready to leave the house. You search for those keys with micro-intensity. You narrow your view, honing in on places you think you may have placed your keys. First you look in the obvious places, the table near the door, the counter top, your pockets. After you don't find the keys in the obvious places you start to think of less obvious places. You check the outside of the door, maybe you never took them out of the lock. Nope not there. You retrace your steps, you look in every room you've been in. You look in the refrigerator, in the laundry room, under the beds - even though you have no memory of going near these places with your keys. You'll take'em any way you can find them at this point.

Once you have searched everywhere you think your keys could possibly be - you just stop and think. You stand still and you think to yourself,"the keys have to be in here somewhere. I used them to unlock the door when I came home!"

Right there! That sense of "where-the-fuck-is-it-ness?!?" That's the feeling I'm talking about.
That is exactly how I'm feeling right now. But, I'm not looking for my keys. I'm looking for "my real life."

Okay, I know this sounds crazy- but I'm looking for the physical manifestation of an image in my mind. The image of "my real life" is tranquil, and serene. No worries. Content. The image is of me sitting somewhere, I think I'm on a porch, or on a lawn. There's a lot of lush greenery around me. It's really pretty. But it's not the beauty of the place that makes it so appealing. It's the feeling that I have when I'm there, it's so absolutely fulfilled and peaceful, it blows my mind! I'm not thinking about bills, Mykiddo, relationships, family stuff, or health issues when I'm there. I feel totally cared for and loved when I'm there. In this image, I have the house I want,

Let me pull up a bit and give you some background on this thing. I moved away from my home in Louisiana three years ago to start a new life in a very different place. I chose Columbus Ohio. I wanted to finish school and make more money. I wanted to free myself from the obligations that go along with living near close relatives. I wanted to experience another city - to see the seasons change. On my own. And for the most part I'm doing exactly what I set out to do. I'm in school, I'm working, and I'm on my own. I'm all on my own.

But, here's the thing, I want to go home. I miss my family and my friends. I miss seeing people who look like me and sound like me. I miss the "familiarness" of home. I miss the ruckus, the festivals, the food and the smells. I even miss the dirt.

Even with all of that, I don't really want to go home. I'm just impatient because I haven't found "my real life" yet. I was looking for it when I moved here. I think I've come closer to it. But, no cigar. Not yet.

So, I'm still looking for "my real life." What are you looking for?

Public Service Announcement # 698

2007-07-20T06:53:00.000-12:00

Gentlemen, when pursuing a mate/friend/lover on an on-line dating site:

Do not say that you are "light-skinned, with curly/wavy hair". That shit sounds so ridiculously gay and womanish!

Do not post pictures with every single one of your fraternity brothers. Ya'll steppin' and shit! Grow the fuck up! Immediately!!

Do not post pictures of you kids/grand kids/nieces/nephews...........ever! Those damn kids are not looking for a damn date. Your retarded ass is! Post pictures of yourself idiot!

Do not post pictures of you in a hot tub, in bed, in the bathroom mirror. Think about it, we can see the reflection of the chick who took the picture in the mirror behind your stupid ass!

Do not post pictures of yourself and a woman with her face cut out. We can see her arm draped over your shoulder. We see her hair right beside your face dude! Lawd have mercy......sad sack of shits!

Do not introduce yourself as a Reverend So&So, say you want a virtuous woman and then go on to describe your favorite sexual positions. You have to be kidding me!

Do not misspell words! It's soul, not sole. It's niece not neese. Spell check is wonder - try it!

Do not post pictures of your house, your car, your boat and whatnot! Man either that ain't really your shit or you think you can use it to snag a woman. Ohh, but you don't want a gold digger do you? Jackass!

Do not continue to wear your hair in locks if the hair in the center of your head is absent! Same goes for far reaching receding hairlines. Cut that shit off - anything is better than the foolywang you are rocking now!

Do not post numerous pictures of your pets! Do you think your pet is more interesting, or more attractive than you? If you have a bunch of pets .........let's just say that may be the reason you do not have a mate. Stupido!

Do not imply sending a "flirt" to you is unacceptable. Man please! Just be happy someone spoke to your ass! Dingleberry having bastid!

Do not enter "Legally Separated" as your marital status. What the hell is that? Either you're married or you're not! Pick one nucca!

Do not post pictures with teddy bears, Kappa canes or furry pimp coats. That shit is just wrong on so many levels! Did you pass this shit by a friend before you posted it? NO!!!!!!!!!!!! Damn!

Do not even try to date if you have more than three kids! If you are any kind of responsible you're going to be paying child support for a long damn time. You can't afford a woman. Wait till them kids is grown!

This public service announcement has been brought to you by Dating Site Blues, Inc., Tired of This Shit, LLC., and viewers like you. We appreciate your continued support here at Angie Says.

Bush Kissin'

2007-07-13T06:37:00.000-12:00

I was about nine or ten years old and really skinny. He was really, really dark and skinny. We had agreed to kiss right after it got dark, behind the tall bushes in front of my house. All the other kids in the neighborhood stood at the bottom of the driveway, waiting to see our feet come together beneath the bushes. Our two feet coming close enough to touch toes would indicate that we had done it! That had kissed!

That sounds simple enough doesn't it? Accept it was my first kiss and I didn't know there would be a tongue involved. It just never occurred to me. May be because I was too busy trying to remember to close my eyes. I'm sure I saw people kiss in person and on t.v. - I guess I never thought about the tongue part. But I did notice they closed their eyes. Ha! To make a long story short, as soon as he removed his tongue from my unprepared mouth I RAN INSIDE! Bram!! went the screen door, and he was left alone to attend to our driveway audience. To this day I wonder what he said to them. The next day, we acted like it never happened.

That was my first kiss. It happened over thirty years ago. It's amazing - the things we remember. My first kiss is a good memory for me. It makes me smile. It was innocent and sweet. I have very few innocent sweet memories from my childhood - so I cherish that one.

Random Rant Monday

2007-07-09T07:56:00.000-12:00

Why does Mykiddo break all of my stuff? Why does she break all of her stuff? Will she ever grow out of this? I mean she's going away to college in a month, what's going to happen then?

Here's a list of things I'm going to get after "The Breaker" is gone. Iron, CD player, MP3, computer, iron, pots, and a toilet seat. I'll miss her but it'll be good to have my stuff to myself, and to know if it's broken, I broke it.

When will my "ends" meet? As in making ends meet?

How many NSF fees will I pay this month ??!!

The last two are probably related. LOL

What am I going to do with myself without Mykiddo? She is the reason I keep going even when I don't want to. I'm not being overly dramatic either. My readers who are parents know what I'm talking about. That shit is hard. I know.....I know........do it for yourself.....blah....blah....blah I'm just being real, sometimes I don't think I would "do it" for myself. I guess we'll find out soon enough. If I haven't posted in a long time - somebody come and get me, I'm probably holed up in my apartment in my bath robe and eating peanut butter off of a spoon.

Why do I say I want to be in a relationship. Do I really? Or is it just that I want the feeling of connectedness with someone? I feel like I'm missing that- the connection. I feel like I should be plugged into something in some way, and I'm not. Hell, I don't know.

Why have I had more physical problems in the last three years than I've had in my whole life?!? When will this shit end?

I've been walking and jogging and I've lost 10 lbs! Yippee! Stripper career, here I come!

Why do I feel perfectly comfortable spilling my innermost shit in this blog? I'm pretty sensitive to criticism and judgement - but I don't care here. Why is that?

Analog Girl In A Digital World

2007-07-02T07:49:00.000-12:00

After reading West's recent post, describing the circumstances in which he met, befriended and fell in love with his sweetie, I had an epiphany about myself.

I'm stuck in Beta and everybody else, well, everyone else is rocking DVDs. I am trapped in a dating time warp. I still view relationships the way I did when I was a young girl. You meet, you date and then you get married. Not a good outlook for dating in the 07.

I don't want to date a guy for umpteen years before we get married. I don't even want to go on a bunch of dates with someone while they figure out if they like me. This may sound crazy - but if you don't know if you like me by the 2nd or 3rd date, we have a problem. By the second date - I at least know if I don't not like your ass. At the ripe old age of 40 I know what I want. I know what I like. I know what kind of person I'd like to spend my time with. I expect the same from men who are my age. If you know what you want, how long does it take for you to figure out if a person is not it? Damn.

I know I've said it before, but I don't think dating has to be so complicated. First of all - if two people are completely honest with each other, it doesn't take long to at least figure out who you don't like. Damn.......damn it to hell! If you tell the truth about why you're dating and what you want the other person has the option to decide if they are on the same page. Hell, in the same book.

West and his girlfriend are cool with their situation. They are on the same page.....well, I haven't spoke to her personally. Ha-ha! But, if she still with him after 6 years of dating she has to know he's a slow mover and she must be okay with it. (Maybe she's the slow mover, let's be fair here.)

Me, I don't have 6 years. I'd like to be married in a couple of years. Do you know how much sex I could have with my husband in 6 years ?!? Do you know how many trips we could have gone on together?!? How many long talks and walks........and presents, he could have bought me a lot of presents in 6 years. : )

What's an analog girl to do?

I'm A Frutter, He's a Frutter........Wouldn't You Like To Be........

2007-06-28T07:30:00.000-12:00

At a certain time every month (right now) I have this incredible craving. I want to have sex! Lot's of sex. Stoopit, sweaty, monkey- love sex! The kind of sex you look back at and think, "Damn, did I really do that?" You know the kind I'm talking about? If you're not sure let me try to refresh your memory. If you've ever been driving, sitting in church, or grocery shopping and had a flash-back of an "encounter", and you literally shook. You know, jerk your back a little bit and tighten up "the muscle." You then had to shake that shit off and look around to see if anyone noticed, and smile to yourself. If you've experienced any or all of the above you know what I'm talking about.

During this craving period I experience what we shall henceforth call Frutting. The term is derived from the words freak and rutt. Freak: one who is unusually skilled or talented in a particular area, ie. sex. Rutting: an annually recurring condition or period of sexual excitement and reproductive activity in mammals. Some of you, my sister and Tipsy included, may think the term frutting sounds too animalistic. But it best describes the way I feel, like an animal.

When I'm in frutt I want to call ex-boyfriends, ex-husbands, and people I would never call when I'm not in frutt. Men I wouldn't normally give the time of day to begin to look real good. The African bootleg CD salesman outside of the grocery store starts to look taller and less ashy. I scroll through my phone - looking at the prospects. Ladies and gentlemen let me tell you - the prospects are not looking very good right now. I'm not dating anyone seriously - and I'm not into casual sex. In case you're wondering my "toys" are of no help when I'm in frutt. I want the real thing!

I can't wait until I can roll over one morning and tell my husband, "Baby, you can't go to work today, I'm in frutt!" Until then, I'll continue to cross my legs a lot, take cool showers, exercise and try to stay busy with other activities to take my mind off the situation.

None of that shit works - but I try.

Ain't It The Truth

2007-06-24T07:02:00.000-12:00

Today someone I trust to tell me the truth told me the truth about me. The truth hurts like a mutha! Especially when it's so true that you have no defense - no comeback.

First my face got hot. That's the first thing that happens when I get upset. Then I wanted to cry - but I couldn't cry because of my pride. Next I felt angry. How dare he tell me this shit - doesn't he understand why I'm like this. Doesn't he know what I've been through - that I'm this way because........ Then the embarrassment set in. The shame. Letting someone get close enough to me to see the ugly parts - and then that person acknowledging said parts. Plainly laying them out in front of me. It was like seeing magnified pictures of the parts of you body you like the least. And knowing everyone else could see them too.

This is the time I usually run. I disconnect from the truth teller. I continue on my journey seeking the person who will either not see my truth or see it and not tell it to me. Surely not show it to me.

This time can be different. If can take the truth telling. Take it for what it was, the truth. If can seperate the truth from the teller. If can seperate the truth about me from my total self-worth it can be different this time.

In order to take it for what it is I would have to accept the truth about myself. To know that it's okay. It's not the end of the world. Accept myself with all my flaws and fucked-up-ness. Accept that I am worthy of someone who loves me just the way that I am today. Flaws and all. That I don't have to be ashamed of myself - of my truth - or the truth about me.

It might be different this time. I'm trying to make it different this time.

H Two O

2007-06-21T08:02:00.000-12:00

I dipped my toes in the water again.

The water is warm and has dark brown skin. The water is refreshing and filling. The water found my spots and flowed into them like a stream.

While my toes are in the water - it's all good.

When my lower digits are again dry and landlocked I begin to worry. Worries that come from dips in past waters and swims in rough seas.

Then I come back to myself, and remember to enjoy the dip. To concentrate on the warmth surrounding my toes and ankles.

Don't slip all the way in yet - just enjoy this water - this day.

Let Me Tell Y'all Bout Some Hard Shit

2007-06-19T06:13:00.000-12:00

There is a saying that goes something like this, "doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result is the definition of insanity."

Trying not to be insane is difficult as all get out! Okay, your brain has been conditioned to take in information and respond to it in a certain way. This conditioning stems from nature or nurturing and experience. I've learned that my conditioning is faulty - and should be upgraded to a less retarded model. A positive model that would support the wondrous person I am - and am becoming. So, I've been working on it. Baby steps.......crawling.......baby steps......laid out on the floor scooting on my belly........baby steps. You get the picture.

I had just started feeling like I had the hang of it. I was up to regular steps and then it happened. BAM!!! I was faced with one of those situations where you are supposed to use the new stuff. Think, only deal with truths....blah....blah....blah. Don't listen to the old voices, just the new affirmations. Ha!!!!

I failed miserably.

I felt my self slipping, but I couldn't stop. It was like going down a water slide head first. I couldn't think straight - speak straight or be straight. So much for dealing with truths and mantras and shit. I just wanted to go home and go to sleep. In fact that is exactly what I did, after crying myself into a swollen eyes and a puffy face monster.

When I woke up the the next morning the situation didn't seem as bad as the day before. I realized that I did do better than I had before - I hadn't done the best that I can and will do - but I did better than I had done before.

I plan to keep trying.

This live your "best life" shit is harder than Chinese arithmetic. But living your "bad and damn near worst life" isn't a bed of roses either. Yes, I'll keep trying.

Graduation and the Celie Curse

2007-06-14T02:06:00.000-12:00

MyKiddo graduated last week. The family came up from Louisiana to witness the eldest grandchild cross the stage. Everything went off with out a hitch. My mom blessed us with gumbo, fried seafood and all the trimmings. Yummy! MyKiddo's graduation cook out was the bomb and all is well with the world.

She is off to Cancun on her senior trip - and I have the week to myself. Guess what? I miss her already. What am I going to do when she leaves for college in a few months? Hee-Hee, I'm sure I'll get over it. The upside is I can leave my sex toys out without her seeing them - and passing out. : )

Let's go back to the graduation for a moment. Her father showed up. He was late to the graduation. No surprise, he's always late. I don't have convo for him. I don't feel like I have to talk to him about anything. I'm good with hello....and hello. That's enough, and in an effort to circumvent an arrest for assault and battery I try to keep my distance. With that said - brother was all up in my grill at the graduation. Invading that personal space within inches at one point. What the hell? He did this thing where he was looking into my eyes - like he wanted to say something. Yes, directly into my eyes. Some type of hypnotize yo ass look.

He must not know bout me!

I know what that negro wanted to say. He wanted to say, "Thank you for raising our daughter so well. You did a good job - and I know I haven't been much help." However, he can not say that yet because he ain't that grown. But it's cool. I ain't mad. Well not anymore. I put a "Celie curse" on him many years ago. Those of you who are familiar with my favorite movie, The Color Purple, know what I'm talking about. "Until you do right by me everything you even think about is gonna fail." I never said it to him in person - but it seems to have worked long distance. Ha!!!!!

Anywhoo......it was great being with my family. My nephews are getting so big. My niece Velvet is turning into a beautiful young lady. She's getting so tall - I can't believe it. My sister is still beautiful and crazy. That girl looks younger every time I see her. And she's thin! Yes, I am hating on her. Mommy is the same, we had to pin her down to cook - she was too busy sneaking off to the malls here every time she got a chance. She loves to shop.

All in all a good time was had by all.

It's That Time Of Year Again

2007-06-04T05:20:00.000-12:00

Every year around this time I begin the hunt. I search high and low for it. I ask friends if they've seen it. I check the pop magazines to see if someone has come out with a new one. I browse the net looking for one. All for naught!

I can't find it because it does not exist.

My search is for the perfect Fathers Day card for my daddy. One that doesn't sound like an out right lie. You know the ones I'm talking about......"you're the best dad"........"you were always there for me".......blah blah blah.

Last year I listed 20 Things About My Daddy. But, he and I are going through this "thing" right now......really I'm going through a "thing" with him and he doesn't know anything about it. So, I'm not even feeling like writing any kind of tribute to him. Here's the thing - I started calling him again recently because he had another stroke and I thought he was going to die. That's why I call him - because I'm afraid he will die and I won't have spoken with him in a while. But when we talk it's not about the things we should be talking about. Like real stuff. We talk about cursory stuff, how fast the kids are growing up, the weather - small talk.

Our situation needs "big talk," not small talk. However, neither one of us knows how to do it. Or maybe we're just not brave enough. After he got really ill and nearly died about three years ago he talked real talk a lot. The medication he was on made him sensitive and weepy. Yep, he would talk real talk, and cry. But not to me - he talked to my sister. He talked to her about mistakes he's made in his life - and encouraged her not to make the same mistakes.

I needed that too. My sister tried to tell him that - she knows he and I have unfinished business. He says what he always says, "She's my first child, she knows I love her." I think it was easier for him to talk to my sister. He has less to be sorry for with her.

Maybe just the thought of opening up those old wounds with me is just too scary for him. I know the thought of it scares me. That's why I stopped calling him in the first place. I was getting too close to that talk - real talk - the big talk, and I got scared. When some things are said aloud they change everything. They change the air in the room - they change the time of year and day. They bring you right back to the spot you stood on when the thing you need to talk about occurred. If you were a child at the time of the occurrence - you return to being a child when the things are said aloud. I'm really afraid of standing there again as a child - trying to talk out loud, trying to speak up for myself. I have yet to find a Father's Day card that addresses this stuff.

So, here I am as another Father's Day approaches, wishing and hoping for miracles. Praying that my daddy doesn't die - not before he addresses the little girl in me.

Daddy's Magic

2007-05-31T05:13:00.000-12:00

Do you ever wonder how some people can do certain things? Not like when we wonder how can Chaka Khan sing so effortlessly. Not how people do good things, or let goodness manifest itself through them. I'm talking about wondering how people do things we can't imagine ourselves doing.

For instance, having a baby - your first baby is a memorable experience. It's not an easy occurrence to sweep out of your mind. Watching your child grow and seeing your own image in them is amazing. Someone having fingers and toes that look like your own, lips and eyes that remind you of yourself is awesome. Then it goes on, they grow, they learn about their world - and they adapt to their situations. As a parent you have the pleasure of being a witness to that life.

I wonder how a parent can watch, see, experience all of those things and not do everything in their power to take care of that child. How could a parent put others well being before that of their child? Their first child, the one that looks just like them. How could a person provide for and raise another mans child - and not see that his own child needed provision and rearing? But larger than that I wonder how the same person could make a promise to the Creator to care for the little person entrusted to him, and so callously renege. How could that parent then show up later looking for applause?!?

How is that possible?

If I didn't call, keep promises, visit, protect, honor, cherish, guide, direct, discipline and provide for a child that was my own, I would be ashamed to show up with some "yep, look what I did, ain't she smart....that's my daughter" bullshit.

I just couldn't do that.

What's even more astounding is the child's unwavering love and support for the father.

I say it's astounding, but maybe it's not. I've seen it before and I'm intimately familiar with it so it should not astound me - but it still does. I didn't want to add to the chances of her love for him changing, so I've never spoken ill of him in her presence, I made excuses for his un-kept promises and out right lies. I over compensated for his short comings in an effort to lessen her disappointments. I thought he would come to his senses at some point. But he did not.

I did those things for me as much as I did them for her. You see, I too had a father who fell miserably short of reasonable expectations. I did not want that for my daughter. I know how important the relationship is between father and daughter. In many cases girls/women follow the blueprint of their relationship with their fathers in their relationships with men. I wanted my daughter to have something different. That has not been the case.

Fathers like my daughters' and mine are powerful conjurers. They work their gris-gris into spells that cause us to long for them to do the right thing - all of our lives. The spell is so potent it impairs our vision. We begin to see our fathers in places they are not. In other boys and men. With our blurry sight we look to them to give us the love our fathers did not. We look to them to choose us, to protect us, to keep promises, to provide for us, to be faithful to us and to tell us the truth. But we choose men who are like our fathers and as such they cannot give us what we need.....what we want. So, we do the blind choosing over and over again.

I do not want that for my daughter.

Let Me See Yours And I'll Let You See Mine

2007-05-21T03:28:00.000-12:00

Brother West got me to thinking about what we see when we meet a prospective mate as opposed to what is really there. How much do we really want to know?

I've got this dating idea - and I think it might work. It requires total and complete honesty, which disqualifies 60% of available daters. It requires self-knowledge and acceptance, which disqualifies 30% of available daters. So now we have 10% left.

Here's how it would work. Each person fills out the "All About Me" , "All About My Family", and "Stuff You Don't Usually Find Out Until You're Already Sprung" sections, including facts and figures and about their life. They would then give said information to perspective mates for review. After review of each others information - they could decide if they want to date or not.

This is how the sections might look:

"All About Me"
My name is Suzy Q. I'm 32 years old. I have a great sense of humor but I'm moody sometimes. I'm the oldest child, and kind of bossy.

I was married for 5 years, and then divorced. My ex-and I divorced because I got us into serious financial debt, and he cheated. I have bad credit and I'm working diligently to rectify the problem.

My ex and I have a child together. He has a relationship with the child and takes financial responsibility for him. My ex is intrudes into my relationships and still has feeling for me. I, however do not have feelings for him. I would have another child if my mate wanted one, however not after I am 40, under no circumstances.

I like to have sex a lot, and need a lot of attention. I do not enjoy anal sex and I will not try it again, under no circumstances. I enjoy performing and receiving oral sex. I am not interested in a mate with a man with a small penis, under no circumstances.

I'm a hard worker. I keep a clean home. I love to cook and I am good at it. I do not like to wash the car or cut the grass.

All About My Family
I'm Troy H, and I'm 45 years old. My family is pretty messed up. My uncle molested me and my male cousins until we were 13 or 14 years old. My family has never dealt with the issue of abuse in our family - so holidays and family get-togethers are really bad, and usually end in fights. My mother is an alcoholic and will probably need to come and live with us because her liver is failing. My brother is on crack and should not be allowed in the house, under any circumstances. My sister is cool and she an I are close.

Stuff You Don't Usually Find Out Until You're Sprung
My name is Cassie. I'm 27 years old. I did a lot of cocaine in college. Now I just do it on the weekends - unless I really need it during the week. I slept with a few guys in your fraternity but it didn't mean anything and I don't sleep around anymore. I have herpes.

Now, to participate is this exchange, you must be prepared for the ugly truth. When you're reading the other person's remember your real truth ain't so pretty either. The truth is never pretty - but it is necessary.

(The above mentioned characters are fictional. Don't email me trippin'!)

Questions
Would you want to know those kinds of things about a perspective mate before you dated them?
Would you be willing to disclose that kind of information about yourself to a perspective mate, could you be that honest?

Angie's Life - The Soundtrack Part 3

2007-05-17T05:38:00.000-12:00

Old post I decided to finish.

The one the only Bobby Womack !

I have always been an old soul. I like older music and older men. So - Bobby Womack speaks to me. I like his swagger. He acts like he's the most handsome man in the world, even though he knows he's not. He has confidence. Women like that. We like it a lot. Not over confidence mind you - just confidence in the right dosage.

Bobby knows women - and he talks to us like he knows us. If men would take the time to get a PHD in their women everyone would be happier. But I digress. Back to Bobby. I didn't just discover him - he's been with me for a long time now. He says things that make you want to turn the lights down, drink dark liquor, and take your panties off.

Let me try to explain my fixation with Bobby Womack. I'm a Southern girl, a Pisces with daddy issues. I'm attracted to strong men. Men you know better than to get involved with, but you do it anyway. Men who spit game like Bobby's lyrics -but you don't know it's game, because he's that good or because you don't want to know. Bobby's been spitting his particular brand of game to me since I was a teenager, and I'm not tired of him yet.

In I Wish He Didn't Trust Me So Much he's talking about how he's in love with his friends wife. Not good right? But get this, he spins it! In the end it's his friends fault for trusting him too much. You gotta love that!

You're Welcome, Stop On By, is an invitation to a married or otherwise engaged woman to feel free to come on over to his place. He tells her he's there for her, however, he's getting a little tired of being "that second guy." Mind you, he's not tired enough to stop - he's just putting that out there so she thinks he wants something more. Psych!

I could go on, and on but I'll stop at my favorite. Woman's Gotta Have It He pretends to be talking to men on this one. Telling them how to get, and keep us - that we have to have it. Fir good measure he throws in, "Give her what she wants, when she wants it, where she wants it and how she wants it." Now in reality Bobby is speaking to us, to women. He's letting us know that he knows us. He knows what we need, and he can give it - when, where, and how we want it. Works for me!

So when Bobby's on, the Southern girl in me sashays her hips, the Pisces slips on the rose colored glasses, and the daddy's girl is reminded of her father.*Head nodding, sipping from glass - Sing it Bobby!

Happy Blog-Aversary To Meee!

2007-05-09T03:21:00.000-12:00

There's one thing in particular this anniversary has made me realize. Time passes by so freakin' fast!

It's already May! How can that be? It was just January! What the hell is going on ?

When I was a little girl time seemed to pass so slowly. I couldn't wait to grow up. I wanted to be my own woman and do my own thing. Couldn't wait to be on my own. The years just seemed to crawl by, as slow as a snail. As I got older they began to speed up. My teen years went by like a slow trotting pony. I still didn't feel like that was fast enough. The pace started to pick up in my late twenties. It went by at the speed you drive in a school zone, not the 20 mph your supposed to do, but the 25-30 mph that you really do. Now that I'm forty, Lord have mercy! Time is now going by so fast - I don't even see it. It must be moving at the speed of light, or that mach speed they used to talk about on Star Trek.

There are so many things that I want to do. Places I want to go. Foods that I want to taste. Smells that I want to smell. So many things I want to share. People I want to love. Love I want to make. And so little time.

So, I need to get my hustle on. I'm going to pick 5 things I want to do by this time next year. And just do them! Do them one by one, or two at a time, but do them. Let's see now....

1. I want to go to a winery here in Ohio.
2. I want to go to New York and see a Broadway play.
3. I want to volunteer to read to kids.
4. I want to go to stay in a cabin in the mountains, near a lake.
5. I want to learn to speak Spanish.

Okay, I need you guys to keep me accountable for working on this list. Maybe you have some ideas that can contribute my getting them done. Know a place in the mountains? I'm open for suggestions and free stuff (especially the Broadway play tickets).

Seriously, I'm going to work harder to focus on the moments in my life. I'll take in the now more. Maybe that way time won't go by so fast.

Remedial Cycle Breaking 101

2007-05-01T07:58:00.000-12:00

This class is for those of us* that have put ourselves into situations that brought us pain. This class is for those of us who consciously or unconsciously re-create situations that hurt us in our childhood. We re-create those situations through relationships in our adult lives.

I’m Angie and I’ll be your classmate and teacher for Remedial Cycle Breaking 101. This quarter we will learn how to break the cycles! We will learn to value ourselves and only become involved in relationships that are healthy for us! We will stop dating the same kind of people and having the same thing happen.

Let’s begin by identifying our “re-creation pattern.”

Ask yourself, “What did I want/need in my childhood that I did not get?”

Chances are we are trying to get it over and over again in our adult relationships. For instance, if your answer to the question sounds something like this,

“I experienced some really terrible things when I was a little girl and I just wanted someone (my mother and father) to see my value and choose me. I wanted my mother to pick me over some other choices she made, pick me over her fear, choose me over her preoccupation and insecurity. I wanted my daddy to choose me over the streets, other women and the “outside kids”. I wanted him to choose me and change. I wanted to be valued and chosen.”

You probably re-create situations in your relationships in which you want the other person to see your value and choose you. To choose you over the other people they are involved with. To choose you over their fucked up character. To choose you over their own sincere needs. To choose you over their greed. To see your value and move heaven and earth to be with you.

When the relationship doesn't work out, and they never do, you feel just like you did when you were a child. You feel just like you did when you didn't get what you needed. The yearning can become addictive. You don’t know how to set up situations so that they have a different outcome – so you become addicted to that feeling.

But we can change that.

Said change is not easy or quick, but it can be done. We must learn to change our patterns - to teach our brains a new way. We must retrain our brains to respond differently to that feeling of want, to work towards getting our needs met in a different way. For instance, the person who answered the question above would begin to change her pattern by following the steps below.

When you are attracted to or are interested in someone:

1. Ask yourself if I you like them, not if they like you.

2. Don’t invest too soon.

3. Don’t sleep with them right away, no matter what.

4. If they : are dating another person or people, are “separated”,
spend lots of time away, do not communicate well,
don’t keep their word or lie, are emotionally unavailable,
are wishy washy, are negative or weak….

Walk away! Don’t talk it over. Don’t question it. Don’t think they will change. Just walk away.

That’s it for our lesson today class. Please join us for our next session entitled “Mantra’s For Cycle Breaking”

* I do it too.

Enough Just Like I am

2007-04-30T06:22:00.000-12:00

So I'm talking with Industrious on the phone Sunday. (The weather was beautiful!) We hashed some things out.....gossiped... and gave each other therapy. Usually when we have these sessions I drink wine, and she drinks coffee. See, that's why she is Industrious, it's all that caffeine. But she's getting it done. I, on the other hand - well after a couple of glasses of wine, am not getting it done. I'm usually foggy and sleepy.

Anyway, Sunday was different. Industrious sipped her coffee as usual, but I was as dry as a bone. No Riesling - just clear blue skies, and one epiphany.

Chocolate Joy

2007-04-19T02:46:00.001-12:00

I need to think about something that gives me joy. Something that makes me feel happy from the bottom up. The thought of my nephew Trey J has the ability to distract me - and make me smile.

As I think about him and the silly things his five year old mind conjures up, I laugh out loud.

He has stepped his cursing game up. He used to say, "What the?!?" He has recently upgraded to "What the heck?!?" and "For crying out loud!". He has countless snappy comebacks and retorts that he's picked up from cartoons. But the funny thing is he doesn't really know what they mean or when he's supposed to use them. So when he didn't want to share a toy with his baby brother, he said, "I wish I would stop mooching off of people!" LOL What the?!?

I wonder why Trey J has such a spell over me? It could be because I see him as the son I'll never have. He's chocolate and such a sweetie, just the type of son I would choose for myself, if I could choose one. Or, it could be his resemblance to his mother when she was a little girl. Maybe I see some of her in him. I am 8 years older than my sister, and I doted on her.

He loves me to pieces too. He likes to hug me with his long thin lanky arms and he tells me he loves me constantly. When I visit he insists on sleeping with me every night. The last time I was at home I turned him upside down and played him like a guitar along with Prince. (Super Bowl, Purple Rain, unforgettable) He loved that. When I send him gifts or write about him he tells my sister, "I like Nanny." I love that.

While I'm away I have to beg Trey J to talk to me on the phone. His interest is hard to keep 900 miles away. I ask him why he doesn't want to talk to me and he feigns a headache. I tell him he's a FAKER! He just laughs and hands the phone off.

I don't know what it is about him - but he's my special. My chocolate joy.

I'm A Recovering Racist

2007-04-13T05:23:00.000-12:00

This race thing is tough to tackle. Are you a racist? Are you prejudice? Are you ashamed of your race?

Do we ever answer these questions honestly and thoughtfully?

My feelings on the issue of race are varied and confused. To answer the question, am I a racist. The definition of racist is as follows; a person with a prejudiced belief that one race is superior to others. I don't think that the race of people derived from African decent (Black) are superior to other races. In theory - I don't. However, when I consider the treatment of Non-Whites by Europeans, and people of European decent (White), I conclude that there is something different and bad about a people who could, did, and continue to do such things. Which in essence makes me a racist.

That is how I view White people as a whole. Which makes me also prejudice. The definition of prejudice is, bias, a partiality that prevents objective consideration of an issue or situation. I am partial and I am biased. But, how could I not be partial and biased.

When I look at the trees and not the forest, I see something different. Something not so cut and dry. I have a co-worker with whom I'm very close. She is white. We laugh and talk all day long. We share our problems and deep secrets. We are supportive of each other and even pray together. I feel genuine concern for her and her family, and I think the feeling is reciprocated. Here's the thing. She does not think people should date interracially. Specifically, Black and white people. When I questioned her about the grounds for her thinking, she says, she was raised to believe people should marry within their own race. Her father was a blatant racist and spouted negative rhetoric about Blacks. This woman is in her 40's. She has lived long enough to learn that everything she was raised to believe is not necessarily true. When we discussed it further she went on to say she knows she is prejudiced, and she wishes she could be different.

It's very hard for me to marry the concept of my friendship with this woman and her not thinking I'm good enough to date a white man. She has even said that I'm different. I asked her how am I different? She said, "you don't talk black, and you don't act the way I expect a Black person to act." If you've been reading this blog for any amount of time you know that I am proud of who I am - and I don't pull punches because of the particular company I'm in. I laughed at her perception of me as "different." (I guess different does not mean equal.) I explained to her that "people" are different. White people are not all the same and Black people are not all the same. Then I felt very sad. That was a sad conversation to have with someone you consider a friend.

I have hope for a different kind of world. But, I think it's "a silly- just not ready to give up" hope. I'd like to see White people differently and for them to see Black people differently, I just don't expect it.

Again, race is a tough thing to tackle.

Podnah, Podnah, Lemee Update Ya!

2007-04-10T03:39:00.000-12:00

Sometimes I get so caught up in reading other peoples blogs - I don' t feel like writing for my own. I'm going to try to do a better job of blogging. At least three times a week, maybe : )

Here's what's going on with me.

I have met the one. My future husband. The man of my dreams. BUT he does not have any children, and wants to have a family. I do have a child (who is almost 18) and I do not want to have any more children - ever. Lord, this man is perfect for me, but I don't give a damn about my biological clock. I would smash that bitch with a hammer if I could pull it out. I know it's unfair to expect him not to want a child since he doesn't have one. I know that in my right mind. However, in my other mind I'm thinking of dressing up in baby costumes until he gets over it.
: P

Then there's Mykiddo. She's one month away from graduation. I am one month away from a nervous breakdown. I want her to go/I want her to stay. Jesus help me! I want to be able to have nice things in my house that don't get mysteriously broken. But I also want to be able to snuggle up with her and watch t.v. I need to purchase some back up alcohol to ride this one out on. : )

I'm not even going to speak about school. Let's just say my ass is kicked. Period

Now you're updated!

Proclamation Of Ignorance

2007-04-02T13:07:00.000-12:00

How old where you when you realized you didn't know as much as you thought you did?

When you realized all of the self-righteous, self-important pronouncements you had made about people you know, places you've been and things you've seen - was bullshit.

When you realized you don't really know what you want, and more than half the time you do not know what the fuck you are talking about.

Count it 40 years, one month and 2 days for me.

Today is the day I make my proclamation.

I don't know shit.

There, I said it.

Sometimes I get what I thought I wanted, it's not quite right and I don't want it.

Even when I think I know what to do, I'm just winging it, because I don't really know what to do, except to do.

Just when I think I have my wispy fly-away emotions under control - I implode, and am left to take to the bed until I can do.

Around the time I think I'm okay with me, I become distracted and obsessed by my too fat top half and not fat enough bottom half.

I don't know where home is anymore - and I don't know where I want to make a new home.

I thought I could work full time and go to school full time. Half the time I'm so tired, I wish I would get hit by a bus so I could have an excuse to be off from work and school. That way I could sleep a lot and no one could judge me for be the fuck up failure who just wants to sleep.

I thought I raised My kiddo to be independent and self-sufficient and level-headed. As the time quickly approaches for her to leave for college - I fear she may forget to go to class and be enticed to join the circus.

I don't know shit!

I'm amazed that I've gotten through 40 years without knowing anything.

It's a wonder I even make it through the day.

In a way, this proclamation has liberated me. I'm not sure how - because I don't know shit. But I think it has. Well, maybe not - I don't know. Shit!

My Brothers Keeper

2007-03-23T02:06:00.000-12:00

I always wanted a brother. An older brother, someone I could share secrets with and be close to. Someone to teach me the ropes and protect me. I envied the girls who grew up next door to me because they had an older brother. He was for the most part nice to them, and he was nice to me. He was murdered when he was 18 - and I remember sitting outside crying with his sisters and thinking he was the closest thing I had to a brother, and he was gone.

Since I didn't grow up with a brother I have been behind the curve on men. I'm fascinated by them in a way that women who grew up with brothers are not. I was grown before I realized that this fascination was not shared by all women. When I was a little girl I liked to play with boys and hang around them. I liked to watch the way the interact with each other. My grade school teacher advised my mother that I was playing like a "tomboy" with the boys, and I was beginning to develop - so I should stop. My mother concurred. I was heartbroken. I had no boys to play with at home, how would I learn about them. Why was playing with them taboo?

Between middle school and high school I must have had twenty boyfriends. Not because I was fast, or easy. But because I liked and wanted to be with boys so much I would agree to "go with" any boy who asked me, when I should have just been their friends. Those relationships lasted for about a week, and most times didn't even result in a kiss. (I'm sure they were disappointed that I wasn't fast.)

When I was twenty-one I married my high school sweetheart. He was my "first" everything. I was faithful even though he was not, and I was in no rush to sleep with other guys. But I did miss them. I wanted to be around them again. There is something about the energy men give off. The way they smell, talk and move. It's wonderful - and I'm still in awe of them in some ways.

I've made some lasting and not so lasting friendships with men over the years. I like to think of them as my surrogate brothers. I've learned a lot from them and I'm still learning from my surrogate blog brothers, Zed, West and James (see side bar). Things that girls with brothers learn early on. They learn that guys lie, even good guys. That some guys are good and some are bad. That sometimes good guys do bad stuff, and that sometimes bad guys do good stuff. That sex does not mean love to men, and that guys think totally different from women. One of the most important things I've learned from them is that "it's not personal." I tend to take everything personally.

So, thanks to all my surrogate brothers. Thanks for teaching me. Thanks for being my keeper.

Mood Swingin'

2007-03-19T03:03:00.000-12:00

Depression is a em-effer! It is the bane of my existence and I would not wish it on my worse enemy. (Because my worse enemy already has it : ) You know who you are!)

I'm talking about real depression here, the clinically diagnosed shit, not just feeling blue from time to time. The shit that makes you cry all freaking day, stay in bed, stare at the ceiling and pray for a huge boulder to drop through said ceiling and remove you from your misery. That's the shit I've been cursed with. I was diagnosed years ago and I'm compliant with my "crazy pills," as Tipsy calls them. When I'm tripping she asks me, "Did you get your crazy pills refilled?" and I tell her to jump off the nearest cliff - which means no, I did not get them refilled and shut the hell up.

I recently turned forty and I can't get my body to do stuff it used to do with ease. Like lose weight. I can't get it to do other stuff either, but mostly lose weight. I'd been feeling sluggish and bloated and I couldn't kick it no matter what I did. So, I decided to explore the possibility that one or all of the medications I take is causing the puffiness and feeling of "just fuck it". I have high blood pressure as a side dish to the depression, and to round off the value meal of bad health, I have one more thing I can't bring myself to say here. It involves a C-Pap machine. That's all I'm going to say about that. Anyway, my crazy, even with crazy pill mind told me - "Stop taking all of this shit and figure out what's causing you to feel like shit!" I said, "Okay crazy mind, that sounds like a good idea." Please note, when you are crazy, the crazy advice your mind gives you always seems like a good idea. Bad move. Well kind of.

I stopped taking the meds for high blood pressure, lowered my sodium intake, ate less, drank more water and I began to feel better. The swelling began to go down a bit - leaving me looking my usual fluffy (fat) self, and no longer fluffy and puffy. Physically I felt better. Mentally, I'm not sure what I felt. But, my crazy mind chimed right in, "See, don't take that other shit either, it might be making you fat too, and who needs that!" Again, I listened to my crazy mind and refrained from taking the meds for depression that I so desperately need.

So, here we are, almost three weeks into the no crazy pills - and it is not looking good. One minute I'm okay, not great but okay. The next minute I'm crying and thinking about every single sad thing that has ever happened in my whole goddamned life! After that I'm good, I start thinking about how blessed I am and how everything is going to be just fine. These cycles repeat themselves. This my friends is de-fucking-pression.

I have had the script called in to my pharmacy and I will be there post haste to pick it up.

P.S. I will probably regret sharing all of this when the crazy pills have taken effect. But right now I'm going with the crazy mind that said, "Fuck it - write about that shit if you want to."

Monday Mourning

2007-03-12T02:17:00.000-12:00

I like to sleep. No, I love to sleep. Cat naps, long naps, hibernation - sleep in any form is good. With that said, I need to file some type of complaint about my damn loss of an hour of the thing I love most. Sleep. I'm sure some white person who works 2 hours, 2 days a week - came up with this day light savings time shit! I wish I see his ass. I will bite the shit out of him! I want to go to sleep so bad.

Of course I was late to the Plantation. But, I am here. I thought about calling off- but I did not. Not because I am a good employee/slave, but because I don't have even one hour of PTO, and I am B. R.O.K.E. I must work the 80 hours necessary to remain broke, but not homeless. However, work-wife, partner in crime, naive white lady co-worker called off today. So, I'm on the only field hand on the Plantation. Not good. The contact in my left eye is doing this thing where it slides up to the top of my eyeball at 7 minute intervals. I'm as blind as a bat without my contacts. Guess what I feel compelled to do when I can't see clearly? Go to effen sleep!

I have a sociology final tomorrow that I intended to study for on the sly (covered for by work-wife, partner in crime, naive white lady co-worker). This plan has been shot to hell by her absence and the floating contact problem. I sit an "L" shaped desk here on the Plantation. I'm toying with the idea of crawling underneath it, and taking a short nap in the crook of the "L." If I could find a way not to snore I would do it. I promise I would. Since I am unable to control my loud snoring(usually accompanied by snorting and moaning) I'll try not to get underneath the desk.

Maybe I could just lie down in the middle of the floor and pretend I've passed out. I could say, upon being awakened by the Overseer, "I must have passed out, and then fallen asleep. I promise I'll get that checked out." I'm sure this plan won't look so good in retrospect, but right now it looks pretty good.

Good night.

Angie's Life - The Soundtrack Part 3

2007-03-02T04:30:00.000-12:00

Old post I decided to finish.

The one the only Bobby Womack !

I have always been an old soul. I like older music and older men. So - Bobby Womack speaks to me. I like his swagger. He acts like he's the most handsome man in the world, even though he's not. He has confidence. Women like that. We like it a lot. Not over confidence mind you - just confidence in the right dose.

Bobby knows women - and he talks to us like he knows us. If men would take the time to get a PHD in their women everyone would be happier. But I digress. Back to Bobby. I didn't just discover him - he's been with me for a long time now. He says things that make you want to turn the lights down, drink dark liquor, and take your panties off.

Let me try to explain my fixation with Bobby Womack. I'm a Southern girl, a Pisces with daddy issues. I'm attracted to strong men. Men you know better than to get involved with, but you do it anyway. Men who spit game like Bobby's lyrics -but you don't know it's game, because he's that good or because you don't want to know.

Bobby's been spitting his particular brand of game to me since I was a teenager, and I'm not tired of him yet.

In I Wish He Didn't Trust Me So Much he's talking about how he's in love with his friends wife. Not good right? But get this, he spins it! In the end it's his friends fault for trusting him too much. You gotta love that!

You're Welcome, Stop On By, is an invitation to a married or otherwise engaged woman to feel free to come on over to his place. He tells her he's there for her, however, he's getting a little tired of being "that second guy." Mind you, he's not tired enough to stop - he's just putting that out there so she thinks he wants something more. Psych!

I could go on, and on but I'll stop at my favorite. Woman's Gotta Have It He pretends to be talking to men on this one. Telling them how to get, and keep us - that we have to have it. Fir good measure he throws in, "Give her what she wants, when she wants it, where she wants it and how she wants it." Now in reality Bobby is speaking to us, to women. He's letting us know that he knows us. He knows what we need, and he can give it - when, where, and how we want it. Works for me!

So when Bobby's on the Southern girl in me sashays her hips, the Pisces slips on the rose colored glasses, and the daddy's girl is reminded of her father.

*Head nodding, sipping from glass - Sing it Bobby!

There Is A Time For Everything

2007-02-25T15:39:00.000-12:00

I saw this girl I know the other day. I've known her for a long time and I see her often. But this time she looked different. I know it was her but she didn't look familiar. She said some things and I said some things. Then I went on my way - hoping to see her again. But not in the unfamiliar way I had just seen her. I want to see her in the old familiar way I've gotten used to seeing her.

I miss seeing her when she was younger and she idolized me. Now, she's older and she's trying to find herself. She's trying to transform herself from the little girl who idolized me and turn herself into a young woman who can stand on her own - not in need of idols. Many years ago I read that she would eventually need to literally cut herself away from me so that she can be her own woman - and then she'll come back. As I read that I remember thinking, "Is all of that necessary? Will the cutting hurt? How will I survive that?" But over the years I forgot about the cutting way. I was lulled into the comfortable distractions of giving birth to her, teaching her to walk and talk, attending her school and church plays, clothing her, scheduling her tutoring sessions, laughing hysterically with her, chastising her, listening to her, attending her graduations, feeding her, encouraging her, and hugging and kissing her. I forgot about the cutting away.

Though the cutting time is upon me I have answers to the questions I asked so long ago.It is necessary. It does hurt. I will survive by the grace of God. Having those answers does not change the ache in the pit of my stomach or carry me through the feelings of despair and sadness.

The only thing keeping me afloat is the hope and belief that she will come back.

I just got one bad habit only one bad habit.....

2007-02-25T15:18:00.000-12:00

I do this thing that I know I shouldn't do, however, I am unable to stop. I guess it's just the way I'm made up. Here's the thing I do - I believe that people are generally good. That they are usually telling the truth and that they will not do to me what I would not do to them. I have been proven wrong God knows how many times, yet I continue to think this way. Now don't get me wrong, I'm not stupid. I just expect the best of others. Now, when I find out they are not what I thought I have no problem dealing with the facts. But - I just hate that I go into situations giving people the benefit of the doubt. It seems that people who are suspicious and jaded have it a lot easier. See, even now instead of thinking of those people as reasonable and level headed, I think of them as suspicious and jaded. I need to get to a middle ground. Glean from both sides if you will. I'd like to not take people at their word so easily. This does not only relate to relationships with the opposite sex. I wish I could read other blogs and think *some of that shit ain't true, he is exaggerating or she ain't that damn hard - it's easy to type it, walk it - not so easy* See what I write, say and live is just me. I don't clean it up. I don't exaggerate it or water it down, so I think others are doing the same. This leads to a great deal of disappointment.

I've been thinking about this for a few days and I just needed to put it out there.

Serial Dating 5 - No thanks, Mr. Limpy!

2007-02-21T06:14:00.000-12:00

It's so nasty here. Not just snow, there's slush, ice, and black ice. Like most things black, the black ice is treacherous - and caused me to slide face forward into the hood of my car. I'm over the snow and cold. I loved it when I first moved here, now, not so much. I can't wait for Spring. However in my quest to find a winter match to warm my toesies, I date on.

This match was a product of The Ghetto Dating Site. Which equals bad. But as usual it started out okay. He showed interest, we chatted and then talked on the phone. I wasn't too interested because he isn't as thick as I like, but he is tall, so I thought I'd hear him out, give him a shot. So we go through the usual, what do you do, what do you like, how's dating going, blah, blah, blah, blah....... When we got to what he does for a living he recited some long drawn out story about having worked at a bunch of places, etc., etc. So now monkeys are dancing in my head and I'm thinking about my homework, the fact that I want some potato chips, and that I'm sleepy, now humming the song "Sista" from the color purple, and I hear it....."that's when I shattered my knee ankle and I'm on Social Security"....... What the?! Social Security? Why the hell? So I tell myself, "lets recover as quickly as possible and shut this joker down." As if he could hear my thoughts, he quickly said, "but I have a litigation lawsuit on them, so I'm getting ready to get a big settlement." (A "litigation lawsuit", I swear that's what he called it.) The background noises at the "place he resides", sounded like some damn homeless shelter. There was cursing and yelling.......gimme my cigarette mufucka........fuc you nigga.........ass......shit....damn.......bitch.

Then Mr. Crushed Ankle had the nerve to say he's looking for a Proverbs 31 woman, and asked if I could identify with that. I told him I know what the scripture says, I comprehend it, but I'm not that chick. Mind you, I think I possess the spirit of what the Proverbs 31 woman embodies, but I was so pissed that this gimpy, unemployed, probably shelter livin' ignorant bastard felt he was in a position to question me - I decided to be the opposite of whatever the hell he wanted. I excused myself from his attempt to teach me Bible 101 and bid him good night and good life.

I am exhausted people. It shouldn't be this hard. I've discovered there are two types of men on dating sites. The first group are not eligible and sometimes not fun to look at. The are not interested in having a serious relationship, they are only interested in the physical, and the site is a good way to get some ass. The second group are eligible and often handsome. When they joined the dating site their intent was to find someone to have a serious relationship with. However, after they too saw the bevy of available ass there is on line, they changed their minds. They decided to emulate the first group and just get the ass. After all it's easier.

Guys, I'm exhausted. Uncle! I've had enough. I like men much less than when I started this serial dating thing. And it's not worth it.

Finis

What Men Really Want...........

2007-02-19T06:20:00.000-12:00

If you follow my directions to a "T", you are guaranteed to acquire the man your heart desires. I have done extensive research and these results are tried and true. I have spoken with both sexes, taken polls (not poles : ) ), and I've compiled the facts for your edification.

Ready? Here goes.

Men want you to lie to them. That's right boys and girls they do not want you tell the truth. Don't even whisper it! They don't want you to;

ask what you want of them. They'd rather you play games, trick and connive to get what you want from them. Ask for hundreds of dollars for pretend pregnancy terminations when you want to go shopping, or need to pay a bill. You can use this over and over. That way they can call you a "trick, or gold digger".

ask them for what you want in bed. They'd rather you fake an orgasm or just shut the hell up. God forbid you tell them what you like, unless it's the exact same shit that they like, their feelings will be hurt. You will have stepped on their manhood. Either wait until you are alone and handle your business or get "some help". I'll let you figure that one out.

tell them what you really think about their, boys, mother, or wardrobe. This one is self explanatory.

be sensible and talk a situation out. They want you to cut up and act a fool. They want you to show up at the club, break a beer bottle on the bar and hold it underneath their neck while you curse and threaten them. Now he can call you crazy. They love crazy. They keep crazy women around for ever!

NO telling the truth. Try it. Let me know how well it works for you.

Wishing

2007-02-16T06:46:00.000-12:00

I'm floundering in un-productivness today. I'm at my desk at work listening to Kem. Thinking. Wondering. Wanting. Kem brings that out in me, or maybe I listen to Kem when it's already out in me.

Since I intend to do absolutely no work assigned to me by "the oppressor" today, I went back and read some of my older posts. I was caught off guard by how much one of the posts described how I'm feeling now.

On, July 30, 2006, I said,

"Here's why this is a bitch. I don't think I should be poor. I fancy myself a resourceful strong woman. A woman for all seasons. One of my friends referred to me as a 'renaissance woman" the other day, and I think she is right. I can cook my ass off, I can sew, crochet, garden, and bake. I love a good Riesling and a good cigar. You can find an eclectic mix of music on rotation in my CD player, from jazz to hip hop. I like to travel and I'm open to a host of new experiences. I'm a Christian single mother who works full time and attends college. Goddamn it, I am not supposed to be poor!

I'm supposed to be living in a house in the country with a fruit and vegetable garden in the back yard. I'm supposed to drink lemonade under my favorite shade tree and contemplate world affairs. I should be journaling at my favorite coffee shop before going home to cook dinner for my husband. I should be taking guitar lessons and planning trips abroad. I'm supposed to be planning seasonal dinner parties for eight. I should be shopping, and smiling. I should be going for long walks donning a big straw hat and sunglasses."

I've wanted this kind of life since I can remember - but it's so illusive. Is it illusive or is it an illusion? I remain baffled. I wonder why I can't/don't have it? I mean really wonder, like when you wonder where you left your keys. You think real hard, hoping the answer will come to you. You try to back track to help you remember where you left them. I concentrate on this illusive life I want with that type of concentration. I backtrack, try to find different paths to it, coupons for it, short-cuts to it, maps to it, GPS it, etc........ I look at people who have it, and wonder where they were when they got it, maybe I can go there and hope lightning will strike in the same place twice.

I hate that I'm this way. I wish I didn't think the shit I think. I wish I wasn't so sensitive. I wish I didn't want the things I want. Life would be so much easier if I could get these two fish to swim in the same direction. That way I could be either sensible or ethereal, but not both. I wish I could revel in my everyday accomplishments with out thinking of the goals I haven't yet attained. I wish I didn't want love at first sight with a knight in shining armor. I wish I didn't want to be swept off my feet.

I wish I could stop wishing.

You can't drink alcohol, you're nursing!

2007-02-13T02:31:00.000-12:00

Tipsy has had the baby! A beautiful baby girl. I tell you she is gorgeous! Just perfect. I went home to see her and Tipsy a couple of weekends ago. Yeah, uh - Tipsy was not handling this baby thing very well. See Tipsy and her new hubby are accustomed to gettin' it done on their own schedule and a baby shuts that shit down. You have to sleep when the baby sleeps, pee when the baby allows you to, and eat with the baby on your lap, and change diapers every 37 seconds. Well, these lessons were kicking Tipsy's ass big time. And since, she waited until we are about to turn 40 to pull this baby shit - I thought I would find a lot more humor in it. I couldn't wait to say, "Aha, aha, that's what your old ass gits! Havin' a damn baby on me!" But, I don't feel that way at all.

When I visited I tried to help out. I literally pushed her and hubby out the door, to have an afternoon alone. I gave some advice and was looked at with the evil side eye. Tipsy is very resourceful, and smart. She likes to do everything for herself, and she can usually figure things out. But this is different, no book or manual can prepare you for bi-hourly feedings, no sleep, and post-partum lunacy. Like I said I tried to help out. In the end, the answer was to get the hell out of Dodge and let her figure it out for herself. And she has.

She called me yesterday, sounding almost like her old self. She was out and about doing errands and breathing fresh baby-less air. Just what she needed. However, Now she wants to know if it will hurt the baby if she has a little something to drink.

Tipsy's back! Yippee!

Serial Dating 4 - So how long were you in jail?

2007-02-07T01:27:00.000-12:00

After I licked my wounds, and sulked for a while - I took your advice and got back on the horse, so to speak. Back to serial dating. Mind you, I have a lot of balls in the air, so I haven't been on it like before, but here goes.

Let's call this guy "Fuzzy Pimp Coat", (he had a fuzzy pimp coat on in one of his profile pictures). I'm from Louisiana, so any man wearing a coat with fur around the collar looks uhhm.... what we call "pimpish". I like a little swagger, but a pimp coat? C'mon! Anyhow, the guy kept sending me messages and finally I responded. We chat and exchange numbers. Yep, that's how it always starts. They sound so normal at first.

The long and short of it is he was released in 2004 after a 15 year prison stint (d.r.u.g.s. !!!!!), and he has an 8 MONTH old and a 9 MONTH old. He says he wants a wife. I effen kid you not!

WHY?!?

Why is he trying to find another woman? Why do these people always like me? Why did he think I would date him with the super size luxury bags of drama he has? No thank you Mr. Fuzzy Pimp Coat.

The African is starting to look pretty good at this point. : (

Serial Dating 3 -Chemistry Is Crucial !

2007-01-22T03:55:00.000-12:00

Have you ever been on a date with someone, and thought to yourself, "I sure wish I liked you more." Well, I had that experience over the weekend. The guy was The Possible from Serial Dating-2. He's a nice guy, but he's a nerd. Which in itself isn't to bad, because I'm kind of nerdy myself. But this dude is Captain Super Nerd. He drove to Columbus from Cleveland for the weekend. We went out to dinner Friday night. Saturday we checked out the Degas exhibit a the Columbus Museum of Art, and ended with dinner at my place. I cooked the best fish couvillion I have ever made in my life. Damn it was good! But I digress - to sum it up, there was no chemistry. None. Nada. Zilch. Nary a drop.

But, I wished there was because serial dating is time consuming damn it!

Between work and school who has time to get to know seventy eleven knuckleheads? And then I'm a knucklehead too - so there's that. The Possible and I had a lot in common, we like good wine, we like art, we both like to read and learn about new things, blah, blah .............and we still weren't compatible. I need a man who has a little swagger. Not a pimp swagger, just a little sumthin'- sumthin'. I need him to have some flava. You know what I mean? Well so far it all adds up to ordering more sex toys and calling it a night.

I think I'm going to take a couple of weeks off to rest up. Or do you think I should get right back on the horse? Hair of the dog kinda thing?

Give Peppermints A Try

2007-01-19T03:41:00.000-12:00

Thursday, January 18, 2007, 7:10pm

There is a girl in my Sociology class eating Violet Mints. For those of you who don't know what Violets are, they are a kind of candy. A candy I despise. They smell like bathroom freshener to me - but that's neither here nor there.

The thing is Urban Red loved Violet Mints. So watching this co-ed munch on them made me think of U-Red. I haven't spoken to her since 2003. (2003!) That's amazing to me because she and I were closer than panties and ass. We talked on the phone constantly, we went on trips together, we were entwined into each other's families, we had each other's backs and we laughed together constantly. We supported each other through some really tough times - abuse, divorces, being poor as hell, raising our kids, and family crisis's.

The odd thing is as much as we loved each other we were very different. Sometimes differences in friendship is a good thing. It helps to pull each one out of themselves in a way. However, differences are sometimes encumber friendship. I think our differences definitely stood in the way of our friendship in some ways. It's easier to say necessary things to people you feel are like you. It's hard to let someone unlike yourself beyond your boundary point. But I did it anyway. I let her in.

If you are a wimp like me, it's hard to say difficult things to people because you don't want to hurt them. Also, if you are a wimp like me you have let these difficult things fester - now they seem bigger than they actually are........then you get mad......... you get depressed.......you implode. I failed to assert myself - sometimes I failed to separate my self. This led to resentment. Probably resentment on both our parts. She probably resented my neediness, my unrealistic perception of the world, my............well, let's just say there is a long list of things she may have resented about me. But like me she kept mum - and allowed me beyond her boundary point as well.

The thing about a relationship like this, with these kinds of people is an explosion or implosion is bound to inevitable. I imploded. U-Red is not the type to implode, she exploded. And we never fixed it. We never tried to find a way to have a different relationship. One with boundaries.

How do you start over? Every time I consider our friendship and subsequent break I can't get to the part where I know how to start over. I don't know if I've grown enough to do it right. I know I don't have the energy to do it wrong again. I don't know if I care enough anymore. So until then, I think about her. Less often than I used to but I still think about her. How is she? How did she fare after the storm? How is my god son? Is she happy? I think about the fun we had, how we laughed and cried together.

But for now, I'm wondering why is this girl eating those stinky Violet Mints in class?

Serial Dating 2

2007-01-10T05:34:00.001-12:00

I'm getting the hang of this serial dating thing. I'm stepping out of my comfort zone, making contact with men first, speaking to folks and putting myself out there. The more casual I am about the whole thing the more reponses I get. I'm loving that. However, introducing yourself to strangers who you may never speak to again becomes redundant after a while.....but I shall push through. : )

So far there is "The African" and a possible. I don' t exactly know what to do with "The African". It's clear to me that he wants a soley sexual relationship - and he could be the one Industious counseled me about. The one that you only have sex with, thus giving you the opportunity to get to know the others without having sex with them. Hmmm, sounds good, but not so easy for me to do. Industrious was worried about my ability to pull this off and she may be right. I'm not accustomed to having a relationship that is soley based on sex, it just doesn't sit well with me. I know - I'm old enough, I'm all liberated and shit.....but deep down inside I'm a one man woman. And I'm not sure I want to be reformed.

I may have to amend my serial dating plan. Drop the "just for sex guy", and stick to the meet and date four guys part.

The Not Ghetto Dating Site has turned out to be a bust. I have closed my account and moved on. I can't pay them to send me crappy matches, I can do that shit for free on my own. Like I've been doing.

I'll keep yall posted on "The Possible" and the next three.

Serial Dating Continued

2006-12-29T03:16:00.000-12:00

All I can say about The Ghetto Dating Site (TGDS) is it's a very bad place. Don't go there and don't let your friends go there. The majority of the men there are looking for one thing. Yep, the kitty-kat!

Now don't get me wrong, I'm not mad at them for looking for the kitty-kat, just be honest about it. Instead of being forthcoming about their intentions they spout all these ideals about wanting a woman who is Christian, humble, loving, family oriented, blah, blah, blah....... In reality what they really want is a sex partner, and they want it immediately. I just don't understand men. They make things much harder than they have to be. There are plenty of women who just want to have sex too. If men would state their intentions clearly and honestly they could get a lot more hassle free play from women who are looking for the same thing they are. I guess that makes too much sense. Plus men like to think they tricked you into giving it up. Silly so and so's.

Then there are the old as Moses men on the ghetto site. And guess what! They are white. Old ass white men, in their 70's, looking for younger black women. Is this some type of trend? Did I miss something? There's one very persistent one who sends me lots of messages. I don't respond because it's all too odd, and I might throw up. No, thank you Mr. Seventy Five Year Old Geezer.

Meanwhile, The Not Ghetto At All Site (TNGAAS) is not a lot better. They ask you sixty five million questions to get to know your personality type, your love type, your blood type, yada yada. So you would think their matches would be pretty good, right? Wrong! They have matched me with 3 or 4 ministers and missionaries. White ministers and missionaries. One of whom lived in some place like Peru! Give me a break! I limited my matches to 300 miles away. I live in Columbus, Ohio. I indicated I prefer tall men, at least taller than me, I'm 5'4. Why do they send me matches with men that are no taller than 5'6 ? If you've been reading this blog for a minute you know I am not the one to be following some midget missionary across Peru or any damn where else for that matter. There is something wrong with this picture. I need my money back immediately, ASAP, like right the eff now!

I did meet one gentleman worthy of my company on TGDS. I was a little leery about responding to him at first because he is an African, and I had more than a few preconceived notions about Africans. You know, do they want a green card, is this some type of scheme, will he have six wives...... He too was persistent, but unlike the old dude he kept it cool. So we chatted on line, talked on the phone and then we met. Yep. That's all I'm going to say about that for now. : )

Until next time....let the serial dating commence!

Ode to JJJB

2006-12-18T01:59:00.000-12:00

I call him Papa. I don't remember how I started calling him that, but he likes it, so I call him papa. His skin is the color of sweet dark chocolate. He has beautiful brown eyes that smile and dance when he's happy. Those same brown eyes look somehow deeper set and sad when he is sleepy. He imagines himself a buff body builder when in fact his frame is slender and wiry.

He can get anything he wants from me. He rules me completely. He knows I live to see him smile and he takes full advantage of it.

He has four names, more names than anyone else I know. And still with all his names I call him Papa.

Serial Dating - You ain't gotta lie Craig !

2006-12-12T05:01:00.000-12:00

I met him on the "almost ghetto site". His pics looked okay. Well, the one where he was oiled up and in a stripper pose was questionable but the pickin's are slim, so I gave him a chance anyway.

Let me just say, people tend to say fewer stupid things when their sole mode of communication is typing messages on-line. When they have the opportunity to speak over the telephone the stupidity seems to flow like a river. Maybe if people had time to read and edit their comments before said comments leapt off their lips - the world would be a different place.

To make a long story short - He Lied! And if you all know anything about me, you know I can not abide a liar. (Well, if you didn't know, now ya know.) He lied about his religion. ??? What the hell is that about. If you are inclined to lie about your religion there is a problem. Are you ashamed? Or are you really practicing that religion? Or are you just crazy? I'm thinking you are the latter.

The religion he denied for the length of our first two conversation is Muslim. On the third conversation when I asked him about the church he attends (he identified himself as "Christian" on his profile.) he said he should go to "so & so" classes more but he doesn't. So & so = Islamic words that I am unfamiliar with! So, I questioned him about the so & so classes. He was evasive, and did a semantic dance that pissed me straight off........so I say "Yeah, okay but are you a Muslim?". He answered in the affirmative. What the....! He said He hoped I didn't think ill of him because he didn't tell me sooner. Like it was just a small omission and not an obvious deception. No padnah! I don't think so! I tell him I am offended. He tells me this often happens, and that people have misconceptions about Muslims, and that he is not a terrorist, and that he does not sell bean pies, or wear bow ties. At this point the monkeys in my head are dancing and singing. What?!? I don't think all Muslims are terrorists, or sell bean pies. I don't even know if I care if he sells bean pies or not, as long as he can pay his bills, and I like bow ties on some men.

Him being a Muslim was not the problem. The problem was he lied about being a Christian before "admitting" to being a "practicing Orthodox Sunni Muslim". Both quotations indicate his words, not mine.

I had only one thing to say to him before his dismissal. Assalam alaikum!

Dual Dating 101

2006-12-08T09:52:00.000-12:00

So, finals are over and I have a few weeks off before the next quarter starts. I've decided to use said two weeks to get my dating life jump started. It has been as dead as a door nail!

The first step in this endeavor has been to hit up a few on line dating sites. To say the least - it has been a trip. I've gotten responses from the looniest people on earth. I kid you not. One white gentleman is especially enamored with me, at the ripe old age of 75! Okay, I'm attracted to older men but damn! Then there are the Africans. No, real Africans, from Africa. Sir, I am not coming to Africa, nor can I offer you a "green card". (Well not for free anyway) What is going on? Then there are the guys with pictures of their chests, arms, and backs in various stupid muscle man poses. I really wish they wouldn't do that.

My on-line "hit" stats looks a little like this: 8 "jerky jerks" to 1 "might be okay guys" But I'm having fun. I like the attention.

But I digress. Here's what I need help with. In my plan to find my soulmate, or just someone I like enough to put up with and vice versa, I'm trying a new strategy. Well, it's new to me. The concept of dating a few people at once. At least 4. See, that way I won't get "caught up" on just one. I'll get to go out and have a little fun, and I won't be in any hurry cuz there's always the other 3. One of my friends suggested I push the number up to 5 and only sleep with the 5th one. He'll just be the sex guy, which will prevent me from sleeping with the other 4 too soon. It's a good plan in theory, but I don't know if I can get all of that done in a few weeks. SO. Here's what I need from you guys. Give me some of your tips on just dating. Not getting too caught up. How do guys do that shit? I was never good at it. I always start picturing my self as Mrs. So and So, on the 2nd date. I don't say it out loud - but I do think it. I need some tips on taking it light and easy.

Don't be afraid to hurt my feelings. Give me what you got. Guys how do you manage not to give a shit until you are good and ready? Let me in on it - Pleeeeeze.

I'm Back - Until She Kills Me

2006-12-06T11:36:00.000-12:00

Hi Blog Family - Just checking in to say I'm okay. I had a bit of surgery to excise the scary thing I spoke about a few blogs ago. So' I've been home for a couple of days on the recoup. Except for feeling like a splintery log has been jammed up my vajajay - I'm fine. I'm sure that's too much info for some of my readers, but what the hell.

Anywhoo, let me just add that the 17 year old I gave birth to is trying to kill me. Yes, I think she is plotting my demise. It would give her great joy if I ran out into traffic and got hit by a Mack truck. She probably thinks she could live forever off my insurance money. I don't know what it is lately, but we stay on each other's nerves. Pray for me.

P.S. If anything happens to me ya'll know who did it. Don't let her get off!

Grey Goose for Thanksgiving

2006-11-28T05:28:00.000-12:00

This month I used half of my bill money to do something very important. I went home to New Orleans for Thanksgiving!

Mykiddo and I drove. Let me restate that. I drove, she rode. The drive takes 14 hours, not including gas, pee, and rest stops. On the way going we the adrenaline was flowing and we were pumped. No one knew we were coming - and we couldn't wait to surprise them. I don't know how we pulled it off. I can't believe we kept it a secret, but it was worth it.

We surprised my sister and her kids first, then my mom and the dog, then Tipsy, my aunts and uncles, and my cousins. I even surprised my ex-husband. (The second one, he and I are good friends, not the first one. If I surprise the first one there will be a pistol involved.) I did all the stuff you do when you go home, eat gumbo, drink various alcoholic beverages, visit the French Quarter, the French Market and Cafe Du Monde.

The trip was just the "fix" I needed. I got enough hugs and kisses from my nephew to last for at least 4 months. My niece was so happy to see us she cried. That warmed my heart. Tipsy is so pregnant! She looks like she's going to pop! I know she can't wait to have a drink. I don't see much breast feeding in her future. LOL

I was flirted with on a daily basis. I love the "act right" I get in the N.O. The men there love a fluffy woman, and they don't mind letting you know you have what it takes. I sure did need that - I wanted to bring some of them back to Ohio with me.

I needed this visit and I'm glad I went. Now, how am I going to pay these bills?

They're All Married

2006-11-10T04:57:00.000-12:00

Everyone I know is married. My sister is married, my friends are married, my aunts are married, my uncles are married, my co-workers are married, and my neighbors are married.

However, these people are not very good role models for me. I talk to three or more of these married people on any given day and here's what I hear; I hate him, he stinks, he want to have sex all the time, he won't go to work, he doesn't want to have sex, his penis is too long, his penis is too short, he works too many hours, he works too many hours, he's fat, he has a big head, he won't let me smoke weed, I don't like his kids.............

They say a few nice things too, but mostly not. So why would I want to subject myself to what they're going through. I don't know why either - but I do.

Mirror Mirror on the wall......is that you Jackass?

2006-11-03T07:02:00.000-12:00

You attract what you are.
Unknown Author

So, this is to say, that you have the characteristics of those you draw to you. In my quest to learn from my past relationships, and utilize that knowledge in my new relationship(s), I did some thinking. I started with what I know I want. Here is what I came up with. (Not listed in any particular order.)

I want a man that is emotionally, physically and mentally available.

I want a man who is financially stable, and responsible.

I want a man who is smart and funny.

I want a man who is a Christian.

I want a man that is tall, dark, handsome (not cute), and a bit thick.

I want a man to love me unconditionally.

I want a man who is a hardworker.

I want a man who enjoys eating my cooking.

I want a man who enjoys traveling and reading.

I want a man who likes to snuggle, and watch television with me.

I want a man who can fix things around the house.

I want a man who is passionate.

I want a man who enjoys talking with me.

I want a man who misses me when I'm away.

I want a man who does the yard work.

I want a man who thinks I'm smart and funny.

I want a man who likes the way my skin feels and tells me so.

I want a man who does not have feet from hell.

I want a man who can't get enough of me.

I want a man who smells good.

I want a man who keeps his word.

I want a man who likes to slow dance with me.

I want a man with nice lips.

I want a man who likes to kiss and is good at it.

I want a man who is committed to me.

Now with said list of "wants" prepared, I went back and highlighted the qualities/characteristics listed that I have. Hmmmm.

If the saying, "You attract what your are." is true, I should have a man with at two thirds of the characteristics that I have. Not the jack-ass parade better known as my love life.

What the hell is the problem?

See, that is why I don't like or believe in self help books, inspirational tapes, well wishers, optimistic people, and people who generally think that if your correct your shit, someone with equally corrected shit will come along and the two of you will live happily ever after.

NONSENSE! BALDERDASH! PHOOEY! COW PUCKS! JERK BABBLE!

However, I am one of those people. So, if you know someone who fits the bill, holla at me.

Okay, Where's The Camera?

2006-10-29T06:20:00.000-12:00

Is it just me or is the devil trying to kill me? So many things have been going wrong lately that I constantly think I'm on Punked. I keep looking around for the camera's and Ashton Kutcher. Here's a look at my life of late. Our (me and the people in my head) thoughts are in red.

First, Pumpkin has turned into a scary, can't/won't keep his word, punk, weak sister! I know we shouldn't have trusted his ass. Damn! Bitch stop wastin' time. We do just fine with the "toys" and the porn, that's your ass wantin' a damn boyfriend. Focus on your studies! Fuck them nuccas! Damn!

Then, a nurse from my doctor's office called me at work with scary news, and and gave me an appointment to come into the office and look into the scariness further. The appointment was set for a hundred years away, and the nurse promised to mail me some reading material about the scariness. Mail it?! Bitch what? Wait what did you say is wrong with me again? Um. Why did you call us at work with this shit. Mail it? Bitch, you better slow down. Speak real slow. Read the freaking pamphlet to me over the phone.........Lord, what's my sister's number. I'm gonna die. Sob, sob cry, cry....... use the offices long distance, fuck it! We might be dead by the time they figure it out.

Then, MyKiddo had every last one of her wisdom teeth removed, and my co-pay was 200.00. So, I did what any self respecting mother would do. Wrote the check. I wrote the check and gave it to the secretary with a smile. Yep, like the money was really in the bank, and not earmarked for another bill. Oh shit. Where am I going to get the money to cover this? Oh shit. Well, take care of Mykiddo now, and we'll worry about that later.

Then, I called my doctors office back, scheduled an appointment that was not one hundred years away. Looked up the scariness on the net and became a bit more scared. Oh-oh. We have to study for that math mid-term. We do not have time for this shit. Focus bitch! Will ya'll shut the fuck up - let me think. Now,did anyone in my family die from cancer? Did anyone have cervical cancer?

Then, I went to that appointment, got the scariness tested, and was told it would take 3 to 4 weeks for the results to come back. You have to be kidding me. No results take 3 to 4 weeks to come back in 2006. Who the hell are you sending the specimen to, a lab on the moon? Lawd, maybe I need to go to another doctor.

Then Mykiddo asked me if we were still going home for Thanksgiving. She is really homesick. So I told her I would see what I could do, and that I would not be able to go, but I would send her home. Oh really, how are you going to pull that off. Are you planning a robbery? You know you won't last a minute in jail. Shit!

Then, the nurse called me at work. Again! The test results came back. I need to come back into into the office. I have to have a procedure done to cut the scariness out. What does this mean? I don't think I/we can deal with this right now. Let's just do the "denial" thing. Coast. Push, push, coast.

Then, I started a project to make some extra money. This project requires that I use my hands. I was one fourth way into the project, when my arms became swollen right above the wrists. There were also red welts on the swollen areas. Yep, the devil is trying to kill to me. Fuck it! Take 2 benedryl and go to sleep now! Maybe we'll wake up in heaven.

Then, I went to work the next day, with my swollen, red welt ridden forearms. Shit!

Then, I got home from work and saw my unfinished project, that I need to sell, because I need the money. I took one of MyKiddo's left over codeine pills and continued to work on the project. Shoot, we need money girl, do what you got to do. We'll probably die soon, so who needs wrists and arms.

Happy Hour - Friday, 6:00 p.m.

2006-10-21T07:45:00.000-12:00

Normally on Friday evenings I can't wait to get home from work and wind down. Just plain veg out. Stare at the t.v. or stare at homework assignments. I don't want to talk to anyone - I don't want anyone to talk to me. I'm in class every other week night, so on Friday's it feels good to drive my butt straight home.

However, on last Friday I had an appointment with my therapist. Those of you out there who are in therapy can already see where I'm going with this. Those of you who are not in therapy probably have questions. Question: Who in their right mind wants to go to therapy at happy hour on Friday? Answer: I am NOT in my right mind. I don't even remember when I made/agreed to the freakin "happy hour head shrinking session". But it was set.

I waffled all afternoon, forgetting and remembering the appointment. Thinking of reasons to cancel. Feeling guilty for canceling. Thinking back to the last session (2 weeks prior), remembering the uncomfortable questions asked right before the session was over. Questions I was supposed to have an answer to for the start of this session. So, the people in my head commenced to argue back and forth. "Goddamn it! We grown, We ain't going to this shit today. I don't know why she wants US to answer the effing questions, WE are clearly nuts. Ain't she supposed to have the damn answers. Can't we just go home and order a pizza, put our extra fluffy socks on and watch t.v. We don't even have to take a shower we don't want to........" It went on like this for hours.

So, I'm on my punk ass way to therapy. I get there, she offers me tea, as she has done so many times before. This time I accept, unlike all of the other times when I thought it would be too much trouble or cut into my forty-five minutes (don't get it twisted, you do not get an hour). I even inquired as to the "tea options" available to me, and I waited patiently while she listed them off as though she was my waitress. I chose the pineapple ginger blend, and waited patiently for the session to begin. Hell, let's waste time. I don't want to talk anyway.

Some forty-three minutes later I had had not one, but four lightbulb moments. This was one of the best sessions I have ever experienced. I don't say that to be sarcastic or flip in any way. I really did "get" a few things. I had some breakthoughs. Things that I may have heard before, thought before, or maybe even told someone else - But this was different. It was my time.

I'm so glad I went. I'm glad I didn't let my fatigue, and doubt stop me from getting to the appointed time and place for me to receive my breakthrough. I trudged on - I was open - and present.

And I got some pineapple ginger tea to boot.

Dear Professor, Will you marry me?

2006-10-09T06:05:00.000-12:00

I'm in love with my math teacher.

He is a God in my eyes, and I must tell the world of his wonders!

HE HAS BEEN ABLE TO TEACH MATH TO ME !

I remember the first time I saw my mother cry on my account. I was in the 3rd grade, I think. Whatever grade you're in when you learn your multiplication tables. We called them "times tables" back then. Anyway, for as long as I can remember my brain has rejected numbers in any form. So the multiplication table thing was torture for me. I was even more exasperated because I did so well in any other subject. Well, I devised a plan to pass my "times table" test, and resume my post on the smart girl throne. Way back in the 14th century when I was 8 or 9 years of age the local insurance man gave out multiplication charts. They were printed on a small card with his advertising information on the other side. (In hindsight, that makes no sense. I could not purchase insurance when I was in the 3rd grade, so this ad was wasted on me and the other kids in the neighborhood. But, I digress.) It didn't take me long to give up any hope of memorizing the card. I decided to use it to cheat.

That's right folks, I began cheating in the third grade. I remember it plainly. My mother quizzed me on the 6's and 7's. I read from the card, which I held under the table, but still in sight. She said, "Great! You're ging to ace your test!" I thought to myself, "Yep, I sure am - thanks to Mr. So and So insurance Co." And pass it I did - Much to the suspicion of my teacher. She was not as easy a mark as my mother. Damn! Busted.

When I got home my mother called me into her room. She was lying down and I could tell she had been crying. Oh Jesus, what have I done? She asked me shy I had cheated. I have no idea what I said. I was so worried about how I had ruined her life and made her cry. (As an adult I know she was probably crying about some shit that had nothing to do with me cheating!) But it worked.

I never cheated again, and I never understood a damn thing about math. I was never tutored and I floundered miserably throughout middle and high school. I was more than happy to get that "D" at the end of every semester. No teacher ever said, "Maybe you need some extra help", my parents never put two and two together (maybe they couldn't count either), so they never said "this kid needs help in math."

My hatred/fear of math influenced the classes I took in high school and in college, the major I chose and many other choices throughout my adult life. When I returned to college two years ago I decided to tackle math again. I failed. That was a huge deal for me. I had never failed a class in my life. But, somehow I got over it. I decided to take the course over, and I'm glad I did.

This quarter everything changed. A light went off! A beam of light appeared through the darkness! I've been redeemed! I understand math! I like math! Math is great! This wondrous change in my life is due to my math instructor and the Lord Jesus himself. My instructor is great. The rest of the math rejects in my class, and I love him because he teaches us like we have no idea what he is talking about. He explains it to us as if it's the first time we have heard or seen it. Which is great because we don't and we haven't. I love him.

Put It all On the Table

2006-09-28T07:30:00.000-12:00

I've been doing some self-inventory of late. I'm trying to figure a few things out - and I'm having a bit of trouble. The trouble is there are too many things in my head at once. So, I need to sort them out- outside of my head. You know like when you can't find something in your purse, you take everything out and lay it on the the table. Once you've taken everything out of your purse and there's a huge messy pile on the table, you think to yourself, "Was all of that in there? How did it fit? No wonder I can't find any damn thing." Well, I'm taking some stuff out of my head and putting it on the table.

My mind is open and I'm digging around for the slips of paper that have the most consistent feelings I've had throughout my life written on them. I need to check them out because I don't know if they are consistent with what I think is on them. (I know I'm tripping, just try to follow along.) So anyway, I find them. They are dirty and balled up. The writing is faded and worn on some of them, so I have to strain to read them. There are three in all. Let me try to decipher them for you. They read,

Slip One Doubt - the state of being unsure about something, considered unlikely.

Slip Two Fear- an emotion experienced in anticipation of some specific danger of pain (usually accompanied by a desire to flee or fight).

Slip Three Want- wish or demand the presence of; feel or have a strong desire for.

I was quite disturbed at reading these slips. I thought I had written some new stuff on them. I felt embarrassed. The people who know me wouldn't think I have this shit written in my head, that these are my most consistent cues. Aww, damn!

The definitions lend so much depth to the words but heres how they come through to me specifically.

Doubt, Fear and Want.
Doubting love in my familial and other relationships. Doubting my worth. Doubting my abilities. Doubting my "lovableness".

Fear of being alone. Fear of not being good enough. Fear of failing. Fear of succeeding. Fear of being found out. Fear of rejection. Fear of being hurt. Fear of being weak.

Wanting to feel. To feel without becoming unhinged. Wanting to be normal. Wanting to have peace. Wanting to not feel want.

What Else You Got In There?
I have a few more slips in my head. They mostly remind me of what I need to get. Sort of like a grocery list or a wish list if you will. Things that I've been trying to get. Ironically, they are three in number as well. These slips read,

Slip One Security- the state of being free from harm danger or injury.

Slip Two Acceptance - credence, the mental attitude that something is believable
and should be accepted as true.

Slip Three Whole - not impaired or diminished in any way; unharmed.

Security, Acceptance and Whole
I want to feel secure, safe and taken care of in the present and in the future. I want to feel secure in myself.

I want to feel accepted, by myself, by my family and my peers.

I want to be whole. I want my whole and complete self back. I want the first me back. I want to be the whole I was before I was, the whole I was when I was only in Gods mind. I want to be that whole.

So, I'm looking down at all of this stuff on the table. How can I get some of these slips in without letting the other ones in.

If it were only that simple.

What I Learned In School Today

2006-09-27T08:06:00.000-12:00

At the ripe old age of 39 I'm pursuing a college degree. It's been twenty years since I experienced college as teenager, and I thought things were wierd then. The world was strange and new to me then, new people new ideas......But, the world continues to be a strange place.

Here's what I learned in school today.

My instructor can have me and my classmates write our full names on a sheet of paper, stand in front of a wall holding said paper in front of us, and take our picture. Allegedly, so that he can view the pics later to learn our names. Hmmm.......

A student can bring three pounds of sliced turkey to class and eat it from plastic wrap with his fingers.

A student can attend a lecture drunk out of her skull. She can also laugh and cry loudly during said lecture.

An instructor can wrap a scarf around her neck twice, and pull on the ends strangling herself as she lectures.

An instructor can call his sister a "trifling bitch tramp" in class and it's fine.

An instructor may not be able to speak English, however he can teach a political science course and pronounce the word democratic as dem-ock-cra-tick.

Students may step out into the street in front of oncoming cars because, they are students and they have the right of way.

A student can purchase a book for $264.00, and sell it back to the book store at the end of the quarter for $3.44.

Thong underwear can be worn to class with very low cut jeans, so that the students sitting behind the wearer can gawk at the thong for the duration of the class.

Only two college students have proper shoes, the rest will be wearing flip flops.

When you fail a class you get an "E".

I have a daughter going off to college next year. I wish I didn't know what I know about college.

Joy Snatcher

2006-09-11T08:03:00.000-12:00

I want to laugh. No, I need to laugh. I've been feeling really sad lately. It's funny the things your mind whispers to you when you're sad. While trying to write this post my Sad Depressed Mind (SDM) said to me in a low quiet voice, "Have you ever felt joy?", and then it answered itself, "Nope, I don't think I ever have." So I go on typing and the shit I wrote was getting sadder and sadder. Whine, whine, whine, blah, blah, blah.................

So I erase that sad shit and say to my SDM, "What!? Yes you have felt joy, you idiot!" I went on to add, "Why are you saying that shit? I know I've felt some damn joy, maybe your crazy ass ain't felt no joy! Look, don't start that shit up in here. You trying to drive me fucking crazy! Talking about you ain't felt no joy! I can't stand your ass!

I felt joy at Tipsy's wedding. I felt joy when I slept in my new king size bed. I feel joy every Monday when I get to eat free pastries left over from the doctors meeting. I felt joy when I told Mykiddo the story of her birthdate (she turned 17 yesterday, made 17 for those of you from New Orleans). I felt joy when my nephew told me he wrote me a letter. I feel joy every time I eat Graters ice cream. I feel joy when I read a good erotic story or watch some good porn. I feel joy when I take a nap. I feel joy when I'm off from work (and I don't have to work on the weekend to make it up). I feel joy when my plants are doing well. Hell! I feel joy all the time!

My SDM be trippin'. Always trying to bring me down.

Is My Mother Working With Osama?

2006-08-31T01:40:00.000-12:00

When I first started blogging I didn't tell anyone. It was my little secret. I guess I thought I wouldn't be able to write what I truly felt if I thought those I know and love would be reading it. What if I wanted to write something that would hurt their feelings. After writing a bit I realized I wasn't going to write stuff that would hurt other peoples feelings and if I did I just wouldn't tell those particular people about the blog. Haa!

First I told Tipsy, then Spunky, then Baby Girl...........that worked out okay. Later, I told a few other people. I waited a while to tell my mama. I'm not sure why - maybe she was one of the "gonna get their feelings hurt people". Hee-Hee-Hee Yep, now that I think about about it, that was probably why I didn't tell her sooner.

Well, I told her and gave her the address so she could read it for herself. She's not too computer savvy, so it took her a while to get to it. So I guided her to the page, and told her how to get around it. We agreed to talk again when she finished reading the posts. We didn't.

I spoke to her a gain a few days later and I asked her did she read all of the posts. She said she did. In true "my mother" form she said, "I'm glad you don't have anything about me on there. I don't want anyone to know where I am."

That's my mama. She didn't comment about the content of the blog, the family issues, the experiences, the memories and such. Nope. She just wants to make sure that no one knows where she is. Is she wanted by the authorities ? No. Is she running from someone? No. Does she have previous experience with a stalker? No.

Now I don't want you to get the wrong idea, she's not self-absorbed. Just goofy. Her brain just clamps down on one part of a thing, and goes with that. In about six months she will ask me about something in the blog, or she'll tell one of her friends about it. She'll even say it was interesting and that it brought back memories for her. But for right now she is focused on remaining incognito. Everything else be damned!

That's my mama, God bless her. But don't tell her you read it here - you may blow her cover.

Sick For Home

2006-08-20T06:46:00.000-12:00

I've been having this underlying melancholy feeling that I just can't seem to shake. It's difficult to describe - it's a feeling of "want". I'm missing something. Something that no longer exists. I'm missing what was my home. I'm missing New Orleans, Louisiana.

I never quite understood what people meant when they said they felt like they didn't belong anywhere, or they don't feel like they have a home. It's something you brush off until you experience it yourself. The longing in their voices and eyes isn't easily detected by the casual listener. But, when you join the club - you know the members.

In my case the feeling of loss is compounded by the feeling of regret. You see I was not forced from my home by rising flood waters, or gusting winds. I left on my own accord, exactly one year before the arrival of hurricane Katrina. I left because I wanted a new start, and I wanted that new start to be as far away from Louisiana as I could manage. I enjoyed exploring my new surroundings in Columbus Ohio, and New Orleans paled in comparison. Columbus was cleaner, brighter, there was less crime, the shopping was better, the air was cleaner, the sun shone brighter, etc. etc., etc. My sister began calling Columbus "wonderland" because of my constant exhortations of the joys of Ohio.

Now don't get me wrong, I missed home, but I attributed it to missing my family. I returned home to visit exactly two times before the hurricane. Each time I did the usual things, ate boiled seafood, and beignets, drank and visited family and friends. The second time I went home it was to witness my daughter making her debut, which is a big deal in New Orleans. (The debutante ball allows young women to be presented "into" society. ) I took these things for granted, because I thought I could return at anytime and experience them again.

I was not only wrong, I was mistaken on several levels. I went home in February for Tipsy's wedding. I never thought things could change as much as they have. The city has morphed into some eerie Matrix like movie. Some of the places have been repaired, and some of the residents are back, but it is not the same. The configuration of the city has changed immensely. Two thirds of the pre-Katrina population was African-American. Now one third of the population is African-American. The sights on the city streets are different. There politics are different. The city looks gray and sad. I felt like everyone was pretending things would be better - but I wasn't buying it.

I grew up on the Westbank of the Mississippi River in a suburb of New Orleans named Marrero. It's a country looking city, built of many tightknit communities. There was never much crime in Marrero or the surrounding suburbs partially because of the longtime Sheriff Shoot'em First and Question'em Later", and partially because it just wasn't acceptable. It was a relatively quiet and safe place to grow up. Now it's not. The young people on the Westbank have decided they are going to kill each other. They have been practicing everyday and every night, and appear to be doing very well towards their intended goal of destruction. My sister is afraid to let her children play outside. My mother is afraid in her home. My family has begun moving out of Louisiana one family at a time.

I miss having beignets at Cafe DuMonde with Tipsy. I miss second line music, and the Rebirth Brass Band. I miss having sno-balls from the Lemeiux's sno-ball stand. I miss swinging at the river with MyKiddo. I miss buying boiled crawfish from the mean man at J&J's Seafood. I miss doing the "bus stop" with Tiny at every family gathering, picnic, seafood boil, barbecue or wedding reception. I miss buying silver jewelry at the French Market. I miss the smiling gold-toothed faces of black people at the Louis Armstrong International Airport. I miss concerts at the House of Blues, Tipatina's and Saenger. I miss hearing my uncle Handsome talk. I miss redbeans and rice on Monday's. I miss my daddy. I miss my dog. I miss Popeyes Chicken on Woodmere. I miss sitting outside with my sister eating cold cups and watching the children. I miss my mama. I miss Ames Boulevard, Lapalco Avenue and Manhattan. I miss the mosquito man spraying. I miss the Lakefront. I miss fried green tomatoes from Liuzza's. I miss drive-thru daiquiris from daiquiris and Cream. I miss the Mardi Gras Indians. I miss the Jazz Festival. I miss the Symphony Under The Oaks. I miss my friends. I miss the Strawberry Festival (even though it's held in a racist area in Louisiana). I miss the high fallutin' 7th warders. I miss the toll booths. I miss hearing a man on the street holler to me as I pass by,"Hey Red! Can I come?"

These things will never be the same, and I'm sick for Home.

Angie's Life - The Soundtrack Part 2

2006-08-12T10:11:00.000-12:00

Betty Wright, Betty Wright Live! - Tonight Is The Night, Clean Up Woman
Natalie Cole, Thankful - Our Love, Annie Mae, Keeping a Light

I purchased my first album when I was eleven years old. I had patiently saved up $12.00, and I was anxious to give it to the "Record Man". (Record Man = A guy who drove around the neighborhood selling albums and records out of his van. Complete with loudspeaker blasting music to announce his arrival.) I can remember my daddy coming outside with me to witness my first music purchase. So I walk up to the van, and the record man asked, "What would you like young lady?" " The Betty Wright Live album please!", was my reply. Lord have mercy. What in the hell were they doing letting an 11 year old child buy an album about Betty Wright's first sexual encounter (Tonight is The Night), and cheating (The Clean Up Woman) ? My daddy's philosophy was "it's music, it's okay", which overruled any protests my mamma may have had. Thus it began.

Next purchase, same year. It was Natalie Cole's album, Thankful. I played the hell out of that album. I remember thinking the album cover was beautiful. The colors were soft earth tones, which I'm partial to even now. Natalie looks so warm, serene and confident on the cover. Who knew she was strung out on drugs? Not me, I just knew she was pretty, she could sing her ass off and she sounded like she was having fun. That's when I decided to put on "concerts" and force mama and daddy to sit in the living room and watch me sing the entire album. I would turn the lights down low, slink in mamma's high heals and a dress and perform! In hindsight, my parents were probably so patient because they were high as a kite - and in that state entertainment comes in all shapes and forms. But as a pre-pubescent diva I thought they were spellbound by my singing and stage presence. Anyone who has heard me sing can tell you it was neither. My parents just loved me enough to let me dream. And in those moments I was just as serene and confident as Natalie.

The Numbers Don't Lie

2006-08-10T13:53:00.000-12:00

8 or 10 overdrawn checks

20 days to moving day

1 young woman in need of school clothes

0 chance of winning the lottery

40 pounds overweight

786 number of times a day that I contemplate running into traffic naked

2 more days to work this week

7 my current credit score

1 friend in the same boat as I am

8 days until payday

4 number of people I hate at work

1 day away from accepting a job as a sex worker

Eenie Meanie Minie Moe

2006-07-30T12:43:00.000-12:00

When you grow up there are some decisions that you have to make. Decisions that you were oblivious to as a child. Decisions that make you wish that you were once again an oblivious child. Making said decisions bring you closer to the reality of your circumstances than you'd like to be. Here it is. Should I pay my car insurance or pay my phone bill?

I generally don't have a hard time making decisions, and after weighing my options I made the choice.

Here's the thing. This shit screams "You are poor!". Even though you have a safe and warm place to sleep, food to eat, and are tremendously blessed - You are poor. You are choosing between car insurance and phone services, not Prada shoes or a piece of jewelry from Tiffany's.

Here's why this is a bitch. I don't think I should be poor. I fancy myself a resourceful strong woman. A woman for all seasons. One of my friends referred to me as a 'renaissance woman" the other day, and I think she is right. I can cook my ass off, I can sew, crochet, garden, and bake. I love a good riesling and a good cigar. You can find an eclectic mix of music on rotation in my cd player, from jazz to hip hop. I like to travel and I'm open to a host of new experiences. I'm a Christian single mother who works full time and attends college. Goddamn it, I am not supposed to be poor!

I'm supposed to be living in a house in the country with a fruit and vegetable garden in the back yard. I'm supposed to drink lemonade under my favorite shade tree and contemplate world affairs. I should be journaling at my favorite coffee shop before going home to cook dinner for my husband. I should be taking guitar lessons and planning trips abroad. I'm supposed to be planning seasonal dinner parties for eight. I should be shopping, and smiling. I should be going for long walks donning big straw hats and sunglasses.

That is the life I should have.

Instead, I chose to pay the car insurance so that I can drive to and from work and school legally.....so that I can continue to be a Christian single mother who works full time and attends school.

I don't need to talk to anyone on the phone, unless they can give me the life I should have.