Live, Love, Laugh, Let's talk about L!

So I know I've been absent from this blog for awhile but I have really good excuses this time I promise.  None of which matter but for the record, they are really really good.  Plus, I believe that if people want to read what you write, they will be okay with you taking breaks as long as you come back before the interest completely dies away.

So anyway, I've been thinking about the L blog for a long time and everytime I thought I had a topic that I could BS on for over a thousand characters I kept coming back to the L word that is quite literally on my mind always.  Love.

Every now and then I have to put a disclaimer in my blog.  I have to cover myself so here is a blanket disclaimer:

Now whether or not the current object of my probably unfounded attraction is among my readers or not is not of my concern.  He is aware that I like him.  He is aware that I am as confused by that attraction as anyone could be. He is also aware that based on the fact that it is clear that he doesn't feel the same about me that I can't seem to shake said crush. So honestly, if by some glory of God he wanted a deeper look into the jumble that is my psyche and read my blog he cannot be surprised at what he finds because he was and is the only guy that I have ever laid myself before as an open book.  The only thing I will never say here is his name because I respect him more.  THAT BEING SAID NOTHING I SAY IS ABOUT HIM OR IN REFERENCE TO HIM...


If you know me you know I'm telling the truth when I say it's on my mind all the time.  Yes I do have other interests and do occasionally think about other things and other people but for the most part the topic of Love is always there.  In the forefront, in the background, hanging off to the side biding it's time until it can make one of those blazing returns to the front of my brain.  It's always there.  It's my constant companion and for better or worse (usually worse) it's become the voice in my head. And it sound A LOT like Meredith Grey-Shepperd from Grey's Anatomy.

Wikipedia defines Love as:

The English word "love" can refer to a variety of different feelings, states, and attitudes that ranges from interpersonal affection ("I love my mother") to pleasure ("I loved that meal"). It can refer to an emotion of a strong attraction and personal attachment.^[1] It can also be a virtue representing human kindness, compassion, and affection—"the unselfish loyal and benevolent concern for the good of another".^[2] As well, it may describe compassionate and affectionate actions towards other humans, one's self or animals.

I can't argue with them.  I don't know what love is.  Aside from loving my children and my mother and my family, I do not know what love is.

I love fried chicken.
I love writing and making jewelry.
I love laying in my bed and soaking up all the warmth it has to offer me.

But I have a feeling that's not the kind of Love people are talking about.

I had a friend once tell me their definition of love.  And I asked them because they are in a committed marriage of ten plus years.  By that person, Love was defined as:

"You live and die for that person.  Your first thought in the morning is of them, your last thought at night is of them.  If you had to choose between living life while they die or letting them live at the extent of your own life, you'd die in a heartbeat.  Without the other, you aren't anything..."

To tell the truth, it was at this point that I began to hear blah blah blah, ramble, ramble, ramble, mush, mush...  I had the feeling that she was overdramatizing something that was in reality much simpler and way less sickening in real life.

For the first, I personally live and would happily die for my children. And this is not because I have no romance in my life.  My first thought in the morning is unfortunately not of my children in pretty terms.  It is usually something like "Why are they poking me in the face?"  My final thought of the night is usually how much I love my bed.  If I had to choose between keeping my life and watching a man die, I may make a plea to take my life for theirs but I'm a spoiled selfish only child who would probably just plead not to kill them.  I'm pretty sure I would never say take me not him.  Sorry boo, whoever you are I understand that I seem like a total shit right now but chances are that you knew that when you started dating/married me.  I would however give my life for my children.  I love them.  And that last part, with him, I'm not anything???  Seriously??  I don't have them now so does that mean I'm nothing now?  Wow... I'm nothing.  Nothing sure does feel like a solid slightly overweight black woman that it's severe pain because she's sitting in a chair instead lying down like the doctor told her to.

I was married.  I was not in love with my husband.  I was in love with being married.  I stayed because on a really effed up plane of existence, he offered me a sense of security.  He was the father of my children, he was the provider of my home, he was the one I had promised before God and 17 people to  honor, cherish and a couple other things.  If loving him was supposed to be anything like what my friend described, not, I wasn't in love with him.

Thanks to romance novels that I have been reading since I was about 14 years old, I had some ideas on what I'd like love to be.

In romance novels, the hero and the heroine always meet by chance.  It is attraction at first sight.  I'll give them this.  Or rather, I will give them the attraction part.

There is always always, Always a conflict that keeps them apart.  Okay but usually the conflict isn't as legendary as it is in the book.

You should always trust the oldest person that give you advice. DEBUNK!!!  I call the flag on this one!  No details given but I'm calling the BS flag here.

If you love the other person, sex will always be amazing.  Even if he has you up against a wall after you've worked all day, he's now ripped your last pair of good stockings to hell and there's a picture frame gauging you in the back. It will be amazing.  I could wish this on a thousand stars but I'm pretty sure that when I find my doofus in tin foil we're going to have a couple of kinda bad off sync sex.  Nobody gets it right every time.

Everything is happy in the end. Not even going to dignify that with a smart aleck wisecrack.

So, being the person that I am, I have taken the ideals from purely fictional romance novels and real life and formed my own opinions of what love is.

1. People who love each other must first like each other.  That whole thing of "We hated each other at first" I'm sorry, but if I hate someone I am so not going to hang around them long enough to see the other side of the coin.  Why do that to myself?  I obviously have a good reason for not liking them and I honestly can't see that one day I would like to grow old with them.

2. People who are in love must want to be together.  Not all the time.  No one can be with another person 24/7 and not want to go just a teeny bit insane.  If I had to stare at someone day in and day out and never get a few hours to myself every now and then I'd be sitting in a corner babbling to myself.  Freaking, go watch a football game for an entire Sunday or something!  Gah!!

3. People who are in love understand that sometimes you have to be different to be a match.  After all, two identical puzzle pieces never fit together. One piece has to have a give so the other can take.

4.  There are no perfect couples.  If you think you are perfect together and there are no problems, no arguments, no conflict whatsoever, you are a fictional, probably Disney character and you should see serious help for not only your relationship problems but also the fact that you are an animated character that thinks they are real.

As I believe that Love is ever changing, right now, that's all I got.  I don't much about love, but I know what I want.  I know that I call the man I'm meant to have any future with a doofus in tin foil but maybe I'm his nerd in nylons, his geek in glasses, his slob in silk, or his bookworm in brocade.  I'm not trying to be his princess in pearls.

As always I welcome comments.  If you have something to share, please share it here.  I will try to answer if it warrants a comment.  Please understand that this blog is public so watch your language.  Also understand that two things will happen if you choose to ignore that last request.  One, you will look like the buffoon, not me and if it offends anyone it's running the chance of being deleted.

K...K...K...K....

THIS BLOG IS ALL ADULT.  IF YOU DO NOT WANT  TO READ ABOUT SEXUAL RELATED THINGS, STOP HERE!  YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!  DO NOT COME AT ME IN ANY WAY IF YOU ARE GROSSED OUT, TURNED OFF, OR FREAKED OUT!!  YOU HAVE BEEN PROPERLY WARNED!!

I know I've done the fiery letter before but considering the choices I was given for K and the one I chose, I think the fire kinda fits...

So I thought about it and I chose Kinky stuff I'd like to do... Or rather just kinky stuff.

So about a month ago I had a friend over my house and while sitting in my bedroom, he held up the handcuffs that are hanging on my bedpost and wiggled his eyebrows.  I had the good graces to look guilty... I think...

I'm not really guilty but being caught with handcuffs kinda sends a message that one is into some kinky shit.  I mean if I walked into someone's house/ room and they had a leather swing hanging from the ceiling, whips adorning the wall, Erotic pictures, and red light lamps everywhere I don't know about you but I would assume that the person that lived there just might be a little kinky.  Just a little bit.

Me personally, I'll tell you up front, I'm not a little bit kinky.  Dammit I'm a lot kinky.  That whole fifty shades thing, Half of that, I have done, would do, or wish I could do.  PSA: Those balls that Anna had to walk around with... NO.  Just no.  No.

That's not saying I want to tar whipped out of me while I'm with a man.  Spanking, yes,  A little harder than most women probably like it (And I cannot speak for most women) yeah.  I like to hear the hand hitting the bottom.  I like to feel the sting.

You already know I have handcuffs.  If I had bed posts and the ability to tie someone up or be tied up (Or a man to do the tying/be tied) would I tie/be tied?  Hell to yeah!  I personally think that not being able to retreat from the hopefully intense feelings your partner is giving you is awesome.  I'm a runner.  If I can't run from the feelings, I have to feel them all.

I also like blindfolds...  In the area of sex, I am jealous of visually impaired people.  To be unable to focus on anything but the bright lights exploding behind your eyes when you jump over that cliff into oblivion.... mmmhmmm.

What else kinky?

I would like to try a swing.  I look at the sex swings and thanks to very unfortunate web surfing, I know for a fact that women heavier than me have been in one so I would have no problem being in one.  My fears that I would fall out of or off of one have now been assuaged. Whether or not I'm going to be comfortable in one is up the guy in front of the swing... or in back...

The ball gag.  I have not tried one and have no desire to do so.  Being restrained is one thing, not being about to make a real sound.  No.  You can keep your ball gag.

Threesomes.  Manage a trios.  I'm not going to say if I've been in one or if I want to be in one.  That's one of those little mysteries that you might work out for yourself.  Being with two other people is an intriguing idea.  But with that, I don't think I'd recommend any bondage. I also don't think I would recommend the blindfold in this situation.

My mother always told me that a man wants a freak in the bed and a lady in the streets.  I'm pretty sure that this ideal has been lost on today's men.  Men today want a ride or die chick.  She's freak nasty in the bed, on the corner, in the car, on the balcony and the beach and that's a whole new kind of kinky.  That's walking kinky.

Public sex is kinky as well.  At least in my book.  It's kinky and intriguing.  I think it's the element of possibly getting caught in the act that heightens the pleasure.  The fact that someone could walk around the corner and be shocked by the sight of two bodies grinding together in ecstasy not hearing or seeing the world around them alone is enough to make you want to throw caution to the wind.

What I don't think is kinky, cool, or acceptable, is leaving marks on another's skin.  THIS DOES NOT INCLUDE HICKIES.  I'm talking about the cuffs or ropes were so tight against the straining skin that there are now black and blue marks.  If you were doing asphyxiation during sex and you now have a rope burn around your neck, not cool.  Not kinky.  Really getting into it and you're smacking my ass is awesome but me waking up with your palm print across my butt cheek, no.  Whips can be kinky cool but drawing blood with them... no.

There are a lot of things that fall in the kinky category.  A lot of which I haven't covered here.  A lot that I don't even know about.

As always, I welcome comments.  If you would like tell me your definition of kinky, maybe give some examples?

Ciao!

J... Just... J

So it was suggested that for my J blog, I discuss my mom, Justine.  But I had my doubts.  Then I thought, well maybe and I jokingly brought it up to my mom.  She pointed out that with thirty four year of knowledge on this subject plus the combine sum of twenty years of stories about her past, I would be blogging until I was 25 for the fifteenth time.

And then a curious thing happened.  My ex-husband called and I happened to think about Katie's suggestion that I talk about Jackasses.  Hmmmmm.... release some tension, and knock out a J blog all at the same time?  Don't mind if I do...

So jackasses...

To tell you the truth I wish that the jackasses and the stupid people in the world had just been born with a big blinking light on their foreheads so that we could just drown them and go about our business... I mean really how much better would the world be if all the stupid people and all the people that would grow up to be jackasses were drowned at birth.  I can't help but think there would be nobody left because let's face it, everyone is considered a jackass by someone.  The nicest person in the world has someone that has jumped on their last nerve so much that they lost it and became a jackass for even a moment.

Everyone.

I have enough jackasses in my life to fill Giants Stadium.  People who have been jackasses from day one and people who his their jackassery behind people I want to know for awhile.

Most of the boys I went to elementary school with are in the retrospect jackass group.  When I was a kid, they were just kids like me.  When I got away from them, they were people I went to school with.  When we all grew up and some of us reconnected on Facebook or Myspace, some of them were just plain jackasses.  Mostly the guys.  Not the girls really.

Middle school, hmmmm.  Well that's the second third of the stadium.  For starters there was the little white boy that turned and looked at me as I walked into Ocean Township Intermediate School that very first day and then turned to his friend and said. "They let these niggers everywhere..."  Pretty much set the tone for most of my Ocean township years.  Then there's one girl I can place in that group.  Heather Harper.  OMG, she didn't even hide her jackassery.  Girl friend got on the bus that first day of middle school and sat on my lunch and said something about me being new and she would lead me right.  She stank to high hell but you know what.  This chick was my friend from fifth grade to tenth. Some jackasses can't be avoided and can actually make decent friends, even when you know they are jackasses.

High school jackasses and 90% boys.  Freshman year Jesse became a jackass.  Actually most of the drum section really.  And a few of the sax section. And clarinet... Sophomore year a guy named Ben put one foot in the circle.  He wouldn't actually become an inductee until years later.  Junior year the class president joined the ranks.  Senior year the drum section renewed their membership as well as a guy named Mered.  Hell most of the guys did but that was a one sided totally biased placement because I had crushes on most of them and they treated me like what I was.  The fat black girl that stuck out like a sore thumb in whatever circle she was in.

Pretty much everything with a penis joined the ranks in college and a good number of the girls.  Adulthood has it's fair share but whatever, they are faceless in the ranks.

My x husband has until recently, stepped in and out of the ring o' jackasses several times off and on.  He'd be unbelievably shitty and then he'd be unbelievably nice.  Wash rinse repeat.  For the longest time he was actually on his way out of the crowd.  I mean seriously out.  And then he moved to Charlotte. A move, I am sorry to say, I helped facilitate.  Then he walked up to the dais and took the crown away from whoever in my past had it at the time.  I mean kicked them off the thrown and just sat down.  He is the king.

I may or may not have blogged about it, but recently, my x decided that I was a crappy mother and that being with me was an endangerment to our girls.  He filed for sole custody of them and decided that I could have them on the weekends.  He decided that since I don't follow his rules in my home and that when with him, he has to train the girls to his rules every time they come over, I was not doing a good job as a mother.  He decided that because my oldest daughter is slightly overweight, I needed to restrict her meals and learn to cook like him.  It was a whole lot of things but like I said basically he decided I was a eff up of a mother.

Like I said.  Jackass.  King.

He says his main complaint is that I don't talk to him.  He can never have a conversation with me.  I say the problem is that he rates me below a telemarketer when it comes to returning phone calls and texts.  And sadly enough this also extends to our daughters.  He sees my number come up and he sends them to voicemail.  Which crushes them.  Which causes them to not want to call him.  So then he calls and complains that their fingers must be broken because they never call him.  Which puts them on a slight guilt trip.  Which makes them call.  He sees the number and sends them to voicemail.  It's a vicious cycle.

I actually had round, i don't know, five hundred and twenty nine of the "you're a jackass, and I'm done" talk with him tonight.

But I'm sitting here with a good book and a Kahlua milkshake and I'm thinking, I'm going to have a good day.  May not have a good week next week, but tonight?  Tonight is mine and I'm going to make it good.

So blog bloggity blog blog.

I'm always asking for comments.  Here's your chance.  Tell me a story about your King/Queen Jackass.

I'm not mad.... I'm not mad... I'm not mad...

Maybe if I say that over and over... and over and over, it will reach my brain.

I highly doubt that and not just because my brain is swimming in the great caffeine sea right now.  Once again, one of my daughters has been crushed on the X-IL's "My way is the right way" highway.

I can't sit here and tell you horror story after horror story about my marriage... Well I can, but it wouldn't be fair because somewhere in there, I was kinda a bitch and played the eye for an eye, salmon swimming against the tide, I will survive game for a little bit longer than was decently possible.  I did my dirt too.  When my X-IL's talk about bad seeds, they do have a few stories that feature me as the wicked bitch of the North. I know they do and like I said, I deserve them.

But here's the thing, I have this thing inside of me that does't allow me to kowtow to people trying to dominate over me.  If we can work together and come to a reasonable conclusion I can do that.  If you walk in, tell me "This is how it's going to be.  It's my way or the highway" and you aren't my actual or adopted mother, my teacher or principal in school, or the government, you don't need to be dominating over me.

(I could never be Anna Steele.  Never.)

The night of our wedding, with family gathered around, my X-MIL gave her toast and she looked me in the eye and said, "I didn't want you but I guess I have to keep you now."  Needless to say their entire family laughed and found it funny while my mother and I recognized it for the punch in the face it really was.  That one sentence set the tone of the relationship I would have with my MIL to this day.  If I had known that this was how she was on a regular basis, I would have pulled up stakes before the ink dried on the marriage certificate and run.

We've always been rams locking horns.  I think that was our fate.  She never accepted me as good enough for her son.  I never kowtowed.  She never accepted my daughters, I resented that she showed favoritism to my son only.  She hated that I tried to make my marriage about my husband and I, I hated the fact that she had just enough control over him that just when things were going good she was able to convince him that I was the tramp that got pregnant on purpose.  Not once, not twice, but three times.  She hated that I insisted on running my household my way, and I resented that she kept making it so she got her way in my house from three hundred miles away.  I was an age old story of MIL in Hell and the details may vary but you know the story, I don't need to tell it.

As with any MIL she always gave unsolicited advice.  If the subject was as mundane as how to kill a cockroach and my solution was to crush that bad boy with whatever heavy I could find, her advice is to crush it with the north side of your left shoe in a rotating pattern.  No not that way, this way. And in my x's eyes, mom is always right.

We had it out a couple of times.  More than a couple and for awhile she backed down.  Okay so she was really regrouping but I took my victories where I could and I didn't gloat, I wasn't a bad winner. (Maybe once...)

But then J and K started to gain weight.  They take after my side of the family and we aren't exactly rail thin.  On J, it was considered "more to Sugah to love" and he'd tone it one day when it came to sports.  On K she was just fat.  And what was worse, she said this K, repeatedly.  And if you know K, you know that in terms of her self esteem it's not always up to par and kid gloves are needed. (insert story about the kid that took her parent's divorce very badly here)  K didn't get any more graceful as she grew but that's okay becasue she is her own person and she will get it when she gets it.  But that wasn't okay to my X-MIL.  It was a parenting faux pas on my part that I am allowing her to find herself in her own time.

So recently, I decided that as K will be 13 this year and she's in middle school, it was time she got a grown up hair cut and stopped wearing the stinky cornrows I can do.  So my mom paid for the style cut and tracks that our family stylist (That sounds so awesome to say) to give to K.  She looked awesome.  No, she looked AWESOME.  For the first time in a LONG time, my baby walked around looking ahead of herself and not at the floor.  She was happy and her self confidence was right up there where it should be or damn near close.  My baby was happy.

And one overnight trip to Daddy's almost ruined it all.

X-MIL has moved to down Charlotte to be close to her kids since X-SIL has moved down here.  Personally I think X-MIL has moved here specifically to torment and annoy me but I'm kinda biased on this subject.  On Labor day, X had to work so X-MIL and X-SIL, who both grew up in NYC, one of the weave capitols of the world, took the girls to the pool in X's neighborhood.  Seeing K's hair, knowing that it had glue in tracks and that she had just recently gotten a perm (Relaxer), she gave K a Shower cap to wear in the pool.  Labor day, community pool, splashing.

In the end, my child looked like Erykah Badu when she took off her wrap in The Other Side of the Game video.  I couldn't believe it!  Who does that?!?  And then to send back the advice not to put tracks in my daughter's hair anymore?!?!  My daughter walked in here looking at the floor because she KNEW her hair looked jacked up.  She didn't think there was any way I could fix it so that she didn't get laughed at at school.

I have to say here that I think sheer anger at my X-MIL and X-SIL fueled me to work that deep down magic that all black women are apparently born with but don't always tap into cause dammit, my baby looked like a rock star this morning and she walked out of here with her head held high.

And my mom, my blessed mother walked me down from my water tower yesterday because all I wanted to do was march over there and tell that woman exactly what she could do with her advice and herself last night.  She reminded me that they've always been this way and her jacking up my daughters hair with sheer negligence wasn't a personal attack, it was just her being an asshole.  It was nothing new.  I was over reacting.  I just need to regroup and change my tactics.

So, I'm not mad.  I just need to work on my battle strategy.  It's gonna be okay.

We cool.

We cool...

Aye yi yi yi!! Let's talk about I!

I... I... I...

I wanna chat about and interesting happening that as it happens, I wouldn't have the chance to talk about if it hadn't happened last night.

So my neighbor had a mass birthday party because like three people in her massive MASSIVE family had birthday in or around yesterday.  She invited me but frankly I put on my Oopsie persona and I kinda forgot about pretty much everything.  It happens.  not often but it happens.

So she sent her nephew over about eight is maybe nine ish to see if I was coming over.

Dude came into my home smelled the chicken I was frying for the girls and told me it smelled good and he was gonna have to come back and get him a piece of that.  Wanted to know my name, talked to my girls, pretty much broke all of the protocols for a guy entering my home.  After about ten minutes of him bull shitting around "getting to know us" I finally got hi out of my house and promised to swing by the party, which I did twenty minutes later.  Most of the time I was there I spent trying to move away from the nephew because he told everyone that would listen that my house smelled like cupcakes and good fried chicken.  To which my neighbor then told her nephew to ask Ms. Claudette if I would give him a piece of fried chicken. (Note to self, talk to neighbor about her match making skills, she was way off on this one)  I mistakenly said yeah he could have a piece of chicken, in fact since the girls were home, I told him to go over and tell the girls to give him a piece of chicken.  Anything that would shut him up about said chicken (If you can't tell, I was completely ignoring the fact that he was openly flirting with me)

Around ten fifteen I said to my neighbor that I was going home and goodnight.  I went home.  At ten thirty my doorbell rings.  It's the nephew.

Now I should explain.  My neighbors family is massive and gregarious and they adopted me.  Pretty much six months after I moved in, I was a member of the family.  A family that has a blurry love affair with a few boundary issues.  I love it, I hate it!  It's like a normal relationship with a normal family.

Anyway, Dude comes in, he asks for the piece of chicken and sits down on the couch to eat.  Now I'm not overly happy because I haven't invited this guy to stay or anything.  He asked Kayla to turn the television to the college football game and then he sat and after he told me that my chicken was burnt but he was eating it anyway, he grilled me on which sports teams I liked.  Btw, in his book I kinda failed that test because between the Giants and the Jets only I chose Jets.  I didn't choose the Panthers for home pride, and I made a face at the mention of the Gamecocks. About the only thing I did right was cheer for Clemson. At this point I'm kinda pissed because I'm working on a necklace and he's keeping me from it.  Since he insisted on staying I gave him some iced tea.  Really I didn't mean to really.  I was pouring one for myself, spiked and he took it from my hand and said Thank you and began drinking.  He then declared it weak and went back to the fridge and hit my arsenal of liquor and proceeded to turn a simple firefly Iced Tea into something that the Kennedy's probably wouldn't even touch.  He then sat back down and took his shoes off and got comfortable.

So I tried a different technique.  I informed him that eleven P.M. was coming up and he would be leaving as I don't have male visitors in my house after that time.  He said he respected that and sipped the drink.  To which at five to eleven I told him to leave the cup with my neighbor and I would get it later.  I said this as I was pretty much pushing him out of the door.

Put the kids to bed turned off the lights in the front of the house, went back to work realizing now that it was going to be really late when I finished because of the distractions.  Eleven thirty, my doorbell rings.  Nephew is back at my door to tell me his cousin spilled his drink.

I'm not an idiot, he wanted to come in and get another drink and see if he could get a little something popping.  I took the cup and told him next time he was up this way I'd make him another drink and goodnight.

Seriously?  Why do men assume that a woman is going to break all her rules for him?  Did he really think I was just going to open my house and say come on in?  Was I going to kiss him?  Was I going to let him take me to my bedroom?  As if!

So there's my I... my interesting happening...

I don't have a goodbye that starts with I.so uh...

I'll see ya later!!

Hills, Hiccups, Happy, Hamburgers...

I like the purple glittery H...

And believe it or not it's been about an hour since I wrote that last sentence and I have completely forgotten what I was planning to write about...  Oh wait... I remember...

HAIR

So hair.  Quite honestly, I don't get what the big hooplah is about it.  Yes I like to have pretty hair; I'm a girl, it's hardwired into my DNA to want pretty hair; but do I go out and get hundred dollar haircuts and only go to salons to get it done?  No.

And not because I'm broker than a joke and can barely pay attention.  I'm the kind of person that gets a hairstyle and kinda sticks with it.  Usually that's braids but lately I have decided to rock my actual hair.  Well mostly my actual hair.  I have tracks on the right side and my shorter hair slicked back on the left.

But OMG! I have seen people who hang their whole day on whether or not their hair looks good.  Namely a certain girlfriend of someone that will remain nameless.  When she first arrived here in Charlotte, every conversation, every stinking conversation started with, "It's so humid I may as well give up on straightening my hair."  You think I'm kidding.  Sadly I am not.  I'm actually glad the humid days are over for now so that maybe her conversations can start with something else. (Not that I would know because she imagined some friction and used it to act like I have the plague.  Yippee!!!)

And as I get older, I notice, it's not just the women.  I know a few guys that own more hair products than I do and I have a bestie that works in a beauty supply shop so she keeps me in some pretty serious supplies.  I actually had to go out and buy a shelf for my hair care supplies.  Of course when I travel I throw like four things in a bag and I'm good.  I've seen people who had a suitcase for their hair products alone. (Again, you think I'm kidding..  I'm not.  I was once in the airport and I heard a guy freaking out because he could find all of his baggage except his hair suitcase.  Whether or not he meant wigs or what I don't know but either way, a hair suitcase sounds scary.  And a little like a diva, which is even scarier.)

Body hair is a whole nother issue.  Let's just say that I prefer minimal.  For both myself and my partner.  Not saying anything about myself but on my partner, I'm not a big fan.  Now that's not to say I can't accept it.  Sometimes a little chest hair can be nice to twirl your fingers in first thing in the morning and more and more guys with a well trimmed beard or stache can do it for me.  

I also LOVE bald guys.  I don't know why.  I have never known why but a bald guy with a small beard and stache.... swoon.  Hell screw swoon.  Insert very unladylike flirting action here.  And staring.  Stalker strength staring...

Now here in Charlotte.  Hair doesn't have a middle ground.  Here, either your hair looks banging or it looks like shit.  Not crap... shit.  Women here get colors in their hair that... well... mmmm (That's me shaking my head in complete dismissal)  Hot pink wigs, blue and gold braids, Neon green weave.  You name the color I have most likely seen it around here....

 

Yes, I actually snapped these pictures...

I just don't get the fascination with hair.

I just don't.

Oh well...  Hmmm goodbye that starts with H...

Hasta La Vista, baby!!!

So I finally decided on G...

Okay so it took me a few days but there are a few factors involved with that:

1.  I'm lazy as hell.  Seriously if you didn't know this about me, I apologize.
2.  For a few days there, I had a wicked headache which somehow led into a cough that I found out last night was the early stages of Bronchitis.
3.  Being sick in any form zaps my energy and the vicious cycle always leads me back to #1.

So in thinking about this blog I finally figured out what I wanted to BS on for G.

Guest Bloggers.

I've seen a few guest bloggers around.  They tend to know their subjects very well and often include footnotes and references.  I applaud them for their work, but dude waaaay more work than I want to do.  See factor #1 above...

I am however NOT opposed to having Guest bloggers here.  I mean the alphabet blog is basically Bullshitting about any topic on the given letter.  I didn't create the alphabet blog to be informative.  Let's face it, I'm not that smart and if I was going to do an informative blog I would turn most to Wikipedia so why bother with the middle man?  I'd rather make people laugh than inform them of something...

Now you guys are going to have to be patient with me today and for a few days.  Got a brilliant doctor at the ER last night who is used to medicaid and it's limitations so instead of giving me the Cough medicine she knew wouldn't be covered, she gave me a pain syrup for the chest/head pain that has a cough control in it.  O.M.G.  There is a good damn reason that Loritab Elixir is on the Narc list.  One freaking teaspoon of it and I had to get up from the computer cause everything was blurry.

I have coughed maybe twice in the hour since I took the tablespoon... Go loritab!

Back to the topic on hand.  So I'm going to look into Guest bloggers.  IF you would like to be a guest blogger let me know.  Here or on Facebook.

Guest Bloggers should be:

• Clear and concise
• Funny.  The alphabet blog is meant to be funny.
• You must not stray from the letter/topic you are given (I say topic because I may extend this blog)
• Must NOT be insulting.  Yes I talk about my ex in laws but I have never thrown them completely under the bus.
• Should not personally name people without their permission.
• Must use a JPEG picture of the letter you are given at the top of the page.

There may be more guidelines put on guest blogging in the future but for now that's what I have.

So there it is.  The G blog.  Not very funny but there ya go!

Now I see why people hate Mondays...

So I'm awake until the coffee and the benedryl fight it out and decide screw this, I'm hitting the pillow again...  Might as well blog...

My refusal to overcome my feet and back hurting and stand in line has officially bitten me in the arse.  Last week, at Olivia's school's open house, I had the chance to find out what bus my child would be on but the fact that the line was like six parents deep and there were tiny kids running around screaming, I figured, she could just go out at 8 like she did last year and catch the bus...

Wrong...

She got out there at 8.  The bus had already been and gone...

)#$*(&!)*

Well, I WAS NOT going to wake my mother up and have her grumble and fuss as she drove across town to come take baby girl to school. I would inevitably catch the crap load on that one.  Nope, I scrambled up my last ten bucks and called yellow cab who told me that it would be 7-9 bucks to go 2 miles... God I miss five dollar cab rides.

But thankfully, my neighbors oldest son showed up to see his own kids off to school and he gave Livy a ride to her school even though he wasn't going in that direction.  I love my neighbors family.  You don't know how much.  Pretty much from month three of me being here they open their arms and invited me into their family.  Do you know how many of their family celebrations I've been invited to??  I love them.

So Olivia is off to school and I am gulping down a big cup of coffee and hoping that this little pink pill does it's thing pretty soon or I may be reduced to clawing at my skin like I was last night around midnight...

For the fifth straight day, social services has failed to put my food stamps in.  In the beginning it really wasn't much of a big deal.  I stockpile food so it's not like we were hurting.  And truthfully, the kids aren't hurting save a lack of Capri Sun's to take to school.  At the moment, I am the one who's feeling the pain of no food stamps.

I am out of sugar for my coffee.  I am out of flour to make bread.

The first sentence alone should scare even Obama.  Seven A.M. and I simply do not mix.  To make us mix, we need the benevolent God of Caffeine to visit us.  If the Caffeine God does not visit us, you have three females who don't like morning all converged into one household.  That's right, be afraid.  You should be.  I'm about ready to go to a restaurant and hold them at butterknife point for all their sugar packets...

The lady said that if they weren't there by Tuesday we have a problem.  She has no idea.

So yeah... If this is the Monday that everyone is always complaining about, I agree, they suck.  IF you have had to live this Monday for longer than one day, I pity you.  I would hand you a cup of coffee, but mine has almost the last bit of sugar in it and dammit, I'm not sharing!

I think I'll go something productive like go play the sims...

Ciao!

Firetruck, Fissures, Farts, Flying, Fame, Frankfurt....

Are all words that I didn't choose for tonight's blog!!!  Hehe, ain't I a stinker??

Well I was kind of torn between two subjects for F.  On one hand I thought, Hmmm this is a great chance to discuss Facebook.  And then on another hand I thought, great chance to discuss Family.  Both great topics.  

How about Facebook and Family/Friends...

With their new filtering methods, Facebook offers ways to have family and what you can show family.  Take my mom for instance.  Sadly, I put her in a group called Doesn't need to know it all because come on, let's face it, Moms do not need to know everything about their adult children's lives.  If my mom knew a lot of the stuff I said on Facebook, she's drag me over her knee (after she gets it replaced) and beat the hell out of me and then drag me to church probably for a well deserved exorcism...  At 68, there are just some things better hidden from mom.

Not to be discriminate, also in that group are the teachers that worked with my mother once upon a time that have known me since I was knee high to a grasshopper.  Yes, that phrase is actually used.  Also in that group are my aunt (the preacher), my Dad's wife (The preacher... my dad is also a minister...), and all three of my kids.  So yeah, aptly named group... Don't need to know it all...

Up until recently my ex-husbands godmother, cousins, sister, and mother were in a group categorized by their last name (The Henderson Clan... yes I actually called them a clan.  If you knew them and the relationship we have always had you'd realize in about ten minutes that they only thing missing were their white robes and pointy hats...)  They were also on the Don't need to know it all group but then his godmother flubbed up.  She wiggled past all my security to a post where I was outright talking about something my ex did to piss me off.  And like the little rat she proved she is, she went right to him telling him that I was dogging him on Facebook.  And here's the kicker, she also laid a public chastising down on me on said post.

Let's go back to the E blog... Things that make you cock your head and say ...eh?   No no no nooooo... It doesn't work like that.

It took me about a week to think on it (Which is my way of coming up with the best way to say #$!& you with actually saying it...) but I made the decision.  First I removed the entire Henderson Clan from my Facebook one by one and then I blocked them all so that I would be invisible to them  Not even visible in a search with my name.  Then I went to each of my girls' page and did the same.  I can't control my son's because he's thirteen, he set his own up.  And as expected, it had the desired result.  The godmother noticed that I stopped appearing in her news feed.  Then I'm sure that she asked her daughter if she could still see me or my girls and then she started flapping gums again and mentioned to the ex that I had removed her.  I don't know what the ex told her.  I imagine it was something along the lines of "So?  It's Facebook."  but it probably wasn't because he mentioned it to me and I said, "I divorced you, I am under no obligation to be nice to your family anymore."

Don't look so shocked... Whenever it comes to his family and me hurting their feelings this is my standard answer.  The answer really should be that they felt no need to be nice to me when we were married so why should I care about them now that we're divorced but the other way has just that tiny ring of sarcasm that I'm known for.  This is the same man who's text tone on my cell phone is "Oh don't sweetheart me, you sonofabitch!"  From the movie version of Chicago... (Shameless movie plug!! If you haven't seen it, you really should.)

So uh, who caught the part above where I mentioned how many members of my family are practicing ministers/reverends?  You can add my maternal Grandfather to that list although he's been deceased for more years than I actually know.  I so don't fit the profile of someone that comes from a really religious family do I?  Then again, maybe I do.  They say the preacher's daughter is the one leading the path to... well, you get the picture...

Back to the topic at hand.  I have many groups on Facebook.  I put all my Chefville people in a list of friends called Chefville and periodically if I don't want 400+ faceless people to know something I block them from seeing it.  When I actually bother to play the game, they are the only ones that can see the posts from it.  I have Locals, I have smithites (I went to Johnson C Smith University for a year and a half and the five people on my Facebook that I still talk to are in that group.)  I even have a list set aside from people from my high school.  They only get filtered out when I have a complaint about high school life which isn't as often as you'd think.  Ninety percent of them already know that high school tended to feel like a gaping hole of crap for me.  Ninety percent of them also know that it was a gaping hole of crap for them too.  Ninety percent of us have kids now so we have a little more common ground.  Although most of them now have small kids and toddlers or babies now and I have teenagers. (Not for nothing but when they are going through that wasteland of teenage years and they wanna pull their hair out, I'm going to sit back on the deck of a cruise ship with a tequila slammer and laugh my ass off... that is unless I meet someone and we do the unthinkable like have another baby... In which case I will be crying right along with them.) I also have a group of ladies who fall into a list called soul sisters and these are women that I have an intense bond with.  One that I'm not even sure death could break.  They are the kind of women that if I died, I would come back and haunt a lot of people, yes, but I would be the spirit that looked out for them.  You know when I got free time from haunting the crap out of others...lol)  Those women are like family.  I'm pretty sure that every last woman in that list is called Aunt by my kids.  Black white, purple, green, they all earned the title aunt.

And OMIGOD there's a yellow jacket crawling up my lamp.  I'm about to freak out.  I need him to go away.

Time to wrap this up.  If I don't get around to the G blog, assume that the little bastard stung me and I'm in convulsions on the floor...

(I don't have a good by that starts with F so... Laters!!!)

Double standards...

So I'm the mom that controls her daughter's Facebook pages.  Routinely, I log on and peruse the things that they can see.  I go through their friends lists and see if they have any friends that they really shouldn't have.

And from time to time I see things that I really wish I hadn't've.

Like the other day when I went on my Kayla's page.  She's Facebook friends with my ex-husbands current girlfriend.

He recently took her with him up to New York to help move his mother and sister down to Charlotte and his shutterbug lady of course took a million pictures.  I wish that I had just kept scrolling and not looked through her pictures of the trip.

For one thing, he took her on a tour around NYC.  He took her on the ferry, he took her up to Manhattan to walk around, he took her to sight see.  Do you know how many times I begged him to do that for me??  How many times I outright said that I would like to see the sights?? No, he kept me in the Bronx like I was some dark dirty secret.  The one time that we all did go to Manhattan to see a movie, he, his brother, and sister walked so fast that they actually left me in the crowds scared out of my mind at night.  Yeah they came back to get me, but not until after they stood by and laughed at me then berated me for not keeping up.

Another picture had his brother posing with her and happy and smiling.  My ex's brother treated me like the little sister he never wanted.  When I was pregnant, we all went out to eat and I was so hungry that I got down half of my burger in record time before he informed me that it wasn't done in the middle.  Killed my appetite for good.  Even after the restaurant took back the other half and returned with a fully cooked whole burger, I couldn't eat.  He went the further mile and made fun of the fact that I was so hungry that I had eaten the first half so quickly.  Called me barbaric because a cow like me was eating ground up cow.  Mind you this was in public and not quietly.

Another time we all went to the movies and he hung a keychain from my braids and let me walk around with this silver thing hanging from the back of my head.

Further pictures had her and him smiling with friends that I was never introduced to but knew about.  Them posing by the river.

I can't say that it made me mad because it didn't really.  It more hurt than anything else.  That his family would accept her when they never even tried to accept me.

Sigh... I sometimes hope that Karma will offer me sideline tickets to the ass kicking that my ex and his family will get one day but if it doesn't and I miss the show, it won't matter much.

Sigh...