Couple of things to report. First, I am tired of traveling all over this TSA laden land of ours. Enough already! I perm, I fly, I perm, I fly. That’s the only reason I know it’s time for my relaxer, cause I have some plane to get on. I know I just said that all this travel afforded me the opportunity to eat like a pig all the damn time but really I am over it.
Next, I got the opportunity to meet my soon to be brother in law’s new girlfriend. Never mind that he is still married to the soon to be ex sister in law that I only formally met once. She seems really nice. Quiet though, which could be an issue in a house full of drinkers and cussers. We will see how that turns out. Oh and while I am at it this meeting reminded me of something. I boost no one’s stock in the “I go hard” department. If you want a hood chick then don’t look this direction. I will do nothing for your street cred or your “keepin it real” points. I am a light skinned, 35 year old woman from the Montgomery County suburbs. It’s clear that is where I am from and I don’t intend at this age to try and toughen my image.
Sure, I am crazy as an escaped mental patient and handy as fuck with a blade. I am coated in tattoos and have very little if any qualms about cussing someone lower than a dog. I drink like a fish and smoke like a chimney but do not get it twisted. Hood, I am not. Go score your Jackie O/Trina/Khia points somewhere else. If you aren’t okay with me looking like that keep on moving down the lane. Good thing my man is not at all troubled by my suburban look. He is aware that under my New York and Company façade I am unstable. It’s a part of my charm.
Next up, I would like to address with growing concern this idiotic sentiment that when something goes wrong in a relationship every woman is either bitter or crazy. I might have always been crazy, but bitter I am not. I think that’s an excuse that soft ass people love to use when they don’t know what else to say. I said what you wanted to, or I called the bullshit I saw. Don’t be upset because I hurt his wittle feelings. Grown men who curl into the fetal position when names hurt them should just go get their nuts removed and women who defend that gump ass behavior should donate their ovaries to them. Stop being scared all your life. Oh and for those of you who thought it was awful that I wrote that letter to that fail ass ex-husband of mine and that somehow I am showing how “bitter” I am. You can eat a dick while you continue let your baby daddies’ walk all over your soft asses. Not me, but thanks for thinking you know my life.
In other news, I have 3 months to buckle down and get this damn weight off me before everyone and their momma wants to take a pic of me and the newly graduated son. I don’t feel like hiding behind him in every photo (which I could do if I really wanted) so I will just slim down. I am certain that the boyfriend will not be excited about his participation in this weight loss journey, but we both pledged to be healthier this year and take off a few of those liquor induced pounds.
Speaking of liquor….You know, when you call me and tell me with a heavy heart that your pancreas up and quit on you after years of abuse please don’t expect sympathy when you call again to tell me that you through a damn fit like a 5 year old and went drinking. Especially after someone told you something you didn’t like. This only serves to remind me that my father is not hardly thinking about growing up and will continue to repeat the same damn behavior time and time again. I called to check on him cause I felt bad for not feeling worse about his predicament. Of course I can never call without hearing a tale of woe. I mean, you did something fucked up and now you are sorry and I am supposed to be shocked? In other news, water is wet. I can’t.
Oh back to the boy. His 18th birthday is Monday and I am very excited for him. Welp that’s it. I don’t really do birthday excitement so “Yay Bill!” I hope you enjoy Maggianos and the movies with your friends. He doesn’t seem all that big on birthday’s either if you ask me. That’s a damn small request for turning 18 LOL. Wait till he sees what you get at 35!
In closing, I hate my fucking job. Goodnight and god bless.