Mmmm Mmmmm MMmmm

So if you have ever listened to Weird Al Yankovic, then you know where the title of this blog comes from.  When I think of M, his song...

So I've been absent for a good minute from the alphabet blog...  I actually could consider my last blog Manless part of the Alphabet blog and call that M but tonight I think I have a good topic.

Let's talk about manners.

When I was a child, I spoke to my mother in a manner befitting the fact that I was a child and she was the adult.  In fact I spoke to all adults in the manner.  Even when I was so mad I could scream and shout and throw worlds biggest temper tantrum, I still spoke to them with the respect their age granted them.  That was how I was raised.

I don't find that this is the case now.  Children today speak to adults in such a manner that I wonder how they are still standing where they are.  Some of these kids... Man my mother would have slapped them in the next week and would be waiting there to slap them back again.  It'd be like watching a game of Pong, this week, last week, this week, last week...

I was in the store the other day and a mom was calling her little boy.  She kept screaming for him over and over.  First of all my kids know that if I have to call you more than twice, your butt is roadkill anyway.  You don't ignore mom.  The fact that this woman was in Wal-Mart screaming for her son, who turned out to be about ten and she called him a total of ten times before he even acknowledged her was a little too much for me.  When he finally did acknowledge his mother, his response was, "Will you leave me the hell alone? I'm lookin' at something!"

Does that little boy know how lucky he is that he wasn't my child????  Forgetting the fact that she called him ten times, he cussed at her AND told her to leave him alone.  If she had decided to slap the little shit across the store I would have gladly kicked him back to her so she could do it again and again.  We could have played a nice little game of soccer.  OMG! And the mom, who sadly fit every stereotype of white mothers. Come on, I'm not offending anyone here.  Throughout time there has been a distinct difference in the way white women mother and the way black women mother.  A black mother would have knocked every tooth in the boys head out.  Some white mothers would have yelled and screamed, some white mothers would have walked away, and yet still some white mothers would do with this woman did and say, "Okay but hurry up."  It was at this point that I wanted to smack the mother.

I'm not a non violent person sometimes.  I mean I don't try to be.  I would have mini strokes fifty times a day if I did try to be or think non violent thoughts all the time.  All I can say to my defense is at least I only think my violent thoughts.  I haven't actually voiced them in a few weeks since I told a woman (in wal-mart, no less) that if she didn't stop waving her hand like she was dismissing me that I would snatch her bald.  *Picture old television shows where the snooty rich person was trying to tell the help they were dismissed they would do that palm facing down go away wave with their fingertips.  This woman was doing that to me and another black man. I told her if she waved her bright yellow nails at me one more again (Yes I said that) I would snatch the hair off her head.*

Back to the woman at hand. This woman stood there for a good five minutes before she realized that the three other women in the aisle besides me were looking at her like she was stupid as hell. Then she politely announced to the boy that she was leaving and if he wasn't in the car when she left he'd be sorry and she walked away.  The boy, perhaps meaning to say it after she walked away or maybe he was actually sucky at snappy comebacks said, "Whatever. Bye!"

It was at this point I left. I just left.

And Children aren't the only ones being rude.  Since I have been down here I have faced the worst kind of Racism there is... Elderly racism.

Thanks to the Paula Dean fiasco, we are ALL aware that today's elderly generation grew up calling black people n!%%ers and coons.  It was socially acceptable back when they were young.  They did not all get the memo that times have changed and that they can have the tar beat out of them for saying that now.  And while I have been racially slurred by elderly people in the past nothing gets me more than when an elderly person says "Oh you can let me go ahead of you, you're young, and I've earned my way to the front of the line."

I kid you not, this has actually been said to me on more than one occasion by someone who is NOT family.  I mean seriously??! WTF?  Ask me if you can go ahead of me, don't tell me that deserve to go ahead of me!

Those of you that know me on Facebook know that I had an encounter with a woman (In walmart) where she had a cartful of things and I had three things and when the cashier finished ringing her purchases the woman turned to me and told me that not letting me go ahead of her in line should teach me a lesson about expecting people to let me skip line because I only had a few things.  Keep in mind that I never in any way intimated that I wanted to go ahead of her.  Nothing came out of my mouth, nothing was communicated from my eyes, or my stance that I know of.  Maybe I'm very talkative in body motions.

Being my mother's child, I have a very low tolerance for rude people no matter the age.  My grandmother raised her that way and she raised me that way.  My Great Grandmother probably didn't have to raise my grandmother to respect her elders because way back then, nobody blinked an eye when someone smacked their kid across the room.  Didn't matter what they did.  If they got a smack, they deserved it.... usually.

Ugh.  What are your thoughts on manners? I'm curious..

Going to vote was a TOTAL waste of my time...

So I went to vote today and let me say, it was a complete waste of my time.  And I don't mean to imply that my vote counted for nothing, I am SAYING it loud and clear.

Just found out that I live in the county not the City of Charlotte.  Well, I kinda knew that because of the trash pick up and all but get this...  I can't vote for city council or mayor because I am only a county resident.  I was only able to vote on school board for my district and two money referendums.  I'm not kidding.  My ballot had three effing questions on it and when I cast (Guessed) at those three questions, it politely said thank you and I was finished.

So I called the lady who was monitoring the booths over and asked her why I hadn't been asked about mayor and whatnot, and that's when she told me, I'm not allowed to vote for the mayor or the city council.

I have to live with the choices that the residents of the city make but I'm not allowed to have any input in it.

This, right here is why people don't vote.  People are always squawking in my ear that voting counts.  It may not be the first vote and it may not be the last vote but it counts.  Go do your civic duty, go cast your ballot and when you finally give in and go out with the mentality that you are going to help, you are going to do the right thing, someone then tells you that you aren't allowed to vote????

Sorry but fuck that!  In order to vote for the mayor or the city council that will pass laws and govern the way I live here, I have to move my home?  But if I choose not to move my home to the actual city, I have to live with the choices that the city dwellers made for me???

I'm kinda pissed.  I should not blog when I'm pissed, but I'm fucking pissed off.  That made no freaking sense at all...

I will survive!!

Sing to the 'I Will Survive' Parody


At first I was afraid, I was petrified!
When you said you had 10 inches, Lord I almost died,
But I'd spent oh so many years just waiting for a man that long, That I grew strong,
And I knew that I could take you on. . .



But there you are, Another lie!
I was ready for a big mac and you've bought me a French fry,
I should have known that it was bullshit,
Just a sad pathetic dream,
Should have known there was no anaconda lurking in those jeans.



Go on now go! Walk out the door!
Don't you promise me 10 inches then turn up with only 4,
Weren't you a prat to think I wouldn't catch you out,
Don't you know we' re only joking when we say size doesn't count.


(Chorus)
I will survive, I will survive!
Cos as long as I have batteries,
My sex life is gonna thrive,
I will always have good sex with a handful of latex,
I will survive, I will survive. . . hey . . .

hey!

It took all my self control not to laugh out loud,
When I saw your little weiner standing tall and proud,
But to hell with all your ego's and to hell with all your needs,
Now I'm saving all my lovin for a cordless multi speed,
Go on now go! Just make a dash,
Last time I saw a p***k that small was watching Gladstone run Unclad hash,
I should have asked for confirmation,
Should have asked for referees,
Then I wouldn't have you waving that wee winky thing at me

Go on now go! Just hit the track,
Don't you bring me home no tiddlers, Cos I'll only throw them back,
The only thing that I could do with a p***k as small as yours,
Is to stick it with a tooth pick
Dip it in tomato sauce

(Chorus)
Go on now go! Get out of my sight,
I'm going back to my appliance,
Cos I know it's length is right,
And if I ever see your tiny tockley at my door,
You'll be counting up your inches as you pick them off the floor.

Manless

So recently, while playing the sims and making an AI me a very happy woman by marrying and having a happy life and big family, I decided that I am more than happy with my AI self created man.  More so than I think I would be with a real man.

I don't understand men at all.  Just like they say they don't understand women, I don't understand them.  I kinda understand my ex husband but I think that it more familiarity with his routines and thought patterns than with him as a man.  If I lived with anyone for almost ten year like I did with him, I would know them almost inside and out as well.  So no, not as a man, just as a person.

I have realized that the male population of Charlotte, NC perceives something wrong with me.  Maybe I talk too much or maybe I don't talk enough.  Maybe I'm too fat for them, maybe I'm too black for them.  I don't know and frankly, right now... I don't care.

One, I will always be a little or significantly overweight. I do not come from a family of thin or even slightly overweight women.  Every single woman on my moms side and those we know on my father's side had a little more weight than people with medical degrees deem healthy.  To that, I just want to point out to no one in particular, the women in my family tend to live very long lives so our weight and lack of twigness is NOT a hinderance to anyone in the Foriest or the Wilson family.  The only way I will ever be one of those anorexic, malnourished stick figures that guys drool over now is with extreme plastic surgery and or liposuction and I don't want either.  I like looking like I know how to throw down in a kitchen.

As for the second, me talking... I don't have a lot of experience talking to men.  I can talk online, I can text, but I cannot talk on the phone or in person for hours on end.  I cannot talk about myself like some of these vapid females out here.  I don't understand how men can sit and listen to a girl talk about every single little thing in her life.  I am personally much more comfortable listening.  Not just to guys.  I just prefer to listen.  I always have.  When guys make me talk about myself, I stumble and stammer and find myself at a loss for words because I have nothing to say about myself.  Now give me a good topic to debate on and I can talk up a storm.  Ask me about baking, I can talk your ear off.  Music, books, writing, jewelry making I can talk about.  Ask me to talk about myself and we have a problem so if that's what men are judging me by, screw that.  I might as well accept singlehood forever cause I will never be one of those girls.

I have found that some guys think that my closeness to my mother is a problem.  We are closer than a lot of mothers and daughters but one thing that guys need to understand, is that aside from my kids, my mother and my father are all I have left.  My mother raised me by herself from the time I was six years old.  She is my hero and I would love to be just like her in some senses. She and my kids usually are the most prominent things on my mind.  Give me a reason to put your on that list.  Don't just assume that there's no way you'd make that list.

I've had something with a total of four men here in Charlotte.  The first was a total flake.  He had looks going for him and absolutely nothing else.  The second didn't have looks but he had conversation.  He literally had me walking on clouds by just talking to me.  He unfortunately screwed everything when he expected me to come to his house for a quickie and lunch before I really knew him like that.  The third guy here had a kind of trifecta.  He had looks, he liked to play rock band, and he was good in bed.  Unfortunately, he assumed that all I wanted from him was sex.  Again, talk to me, try to get to know me.  The fourth guy here I had less than anything with him.  I played my hand at the wrong time and stupidly let him know I liked him.  Like all men, he put that to his advantage and tested it.  I failed miserably for reasons that he never disclosed, really, and I made the choice to stop texting him because I had developed a crush and crushes are dangerous.  They give people power over you and when they simply aren't interested it only hurts more.  Mostly because you start to sit and examine yourself what could possibly be so wrong with you, that he won't even take a chance.

There is nothing wrong with me.  That is not saying that there is something wrong with the men around here, just that there is nothing wrong with me.

I have all the qualities that I admire in women:

1. I am a kickass mother.  My children regularly brag about me.  Yes I have a big head about it because I know that I am loved and that I have done something in the eyes of my children to deserve that.

2. I am a good daughter.  If my mother were to say that she wanted me to drop everything and be there, I may question why and maybe offer a solution that doesn't involve me running across town, but if she needed me, I would and am there in a heartbeat.

3. I am a moderately good Christian.  Yes, I cuss like a sailor when provoked and I ca hold a grudge like an old woman but I can also let go of it and pray for you.  There's no hands like God's hands and if I put my troubles in his hands, he will take them away.

4. I feel like I am a good friend.  I have friends that do nothing but call me to tell me about the shit in their lives and I listen.  I may or may not offer solutions but I listen.  When they finish venting on me they feel better.  I have friends that like me for me.  What they see I have no idea but they like me for me.  So I must be doing something right.

5. I am strong.  I have been through a lot and I'm still standing on my own two feet.  Yes, I have been committed once almost twice but I'm here and I'm doing my thing. Without behavioral drugs.  I have dealt with a person I promised to love before God cheating on me and hurting me in ways no one can imagine.  I have dealt with being raped, I have dealt with a child that treated me the way his father treated me, I have dealt with girlfriends of said ex that think I am inferior to them because the man they are sleeping with didn't want me. (insert Toni Braxton moment here... "Trick don't you know I had your man?  He wasn't man enough for me")  I have faced near death moments and looked my own end in the eye several times.  While I didn't laugh in the face of death, I did walk away stronger than I was when I stepped in front of him.

So if you don't feel like your time is well spent getting to know a woman that would more than likely be good for you, I really don't care anymore.  As far as I am concerned it is the loss of every guy out there that thinks I'm not worth it.  And I am better off without the drama of trying to prove I'm worth it.

So to that end I have officially stopped looking.  I have officially stopped expecting.  I have stopped hoping.  And I have stopped wanting it.

For years I promised myself... I won't turn 30 without being in a relationship... I won't let this Christmas pass without being in a relationship, I won't celebrate New Years without someone to kiss, I won't celebrate Valentine's Day without someone, I won't turn 31 without someone... I won't turn 32... 33...34...  35 is coming and I think I might save up and treat myself to a vacation by myself.  I will learn the most important thing a single female should know:  How to be okay by herself.

No more asking friends to set me up, no more thinking that the guy that smiled at me in food lion might want to talk to me, no more.

Just No more.

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!!!