I'm Different

On the topic of Fuckshit, I have lost my entire mind. I have no clue why I decide to do the things I do, but one day I will either be too tired, too old or too smart to continue. I have finally (at damn near 40) embarking on the ambition of my life. A quest that I have thought about, occasionally bantered about in polite company and secretly desired since the first day I was introduced to it. What am I blathering on about exactly? I, in my infinite 40 hour a week, old, fat, 9 credit taking, college student mothering life am taking MMA classes. Oh and shut up about it, cause its a secret.

Let me just run the tape back for you. 10 years ago I got heavily interested in mixed martial arts without the help of a boyfriend, my son or anyone else. Just me and Pride and UFC. I watched fights, and shows on fights, and then I recognized fighters in obscure paces, and sold property to amateur fighters wanting to start gyms. Then I came here and started writing about them. Then I got my kid watching, and my dad watching and suddenly the guys I dated watched it too. Then I would say to myself "I sure wish I could do that." Me! You know, crazy violent and particularly nutty, tends to take on too much, just got over a serious ankle issue that required 8 weeks of PT. That's me. Not wishing to be able to run again. Wishing to have an actual shot at being a female MMA fighter. Cut to about three months ago, when I my daily LivingSocial deal flashes across my phone. I was pumping gas, or eating something unhealthy or what the fuck ever it is that I do on a weekend that I don't have a paper due, and low and behold my prayers were answered. It was an offer, for a months worth of classes at the local MMA gym for $25! I didn't breathe, I didn't think I just pressed BUY and then I proceeded to chide myself for even thinking that this body with the extra 40lbs strapped to it and the wacky ankle would be able to do anything as kick ass as Brazilian jujitsu...at 36.

I gotta say at that point I just tried to forget that I bought the damn thing. Maybe I would get up enough nerve to go before it expired, or maybe I wouldn't. Maybe I would go home and eat some more bread and gain 10 more lbs and drink another bottle of wine. You know, 40 year old shit, not 20 year old fuckshit like rolling around on the ground grappling with some other sweaty ass people half your age. Nawww I would just ride this one out till the expiration was gone. That was fine too, until one day I was at home, probably writing another godforsaken paper about Information Security or Information Technology, or Project Management in IT or IT ethics or some other fuckass topic that rules my entire existence when No Reservations came on  the TV. Now, if you know me you know that the only think I like more than watching showes about food is eating said food. So I settled into page three of five and hear hustled while I typed. Then it happened, Tony Bourdain started discussing Rio, and how it was so beautiful and how his wife wasn't there to soak up the sun or lay on the beach. Nope, she was there to have a good old fashioned BJJ match. So I watched this tiny Italian woman who was sickly conditioned, and sparing like a champ and I knew right then and there that if I didn't give this a try now, I never would and I would ALWAYS be sorry I didn't. So the very next we hopped our asses in the car and went over there to see whether or not two decidedly fat, close to middle aged old birds would be laughed out of a respectable MMA gym or potentially be killed in the process. I also determined that if I really wanted to do this, that I better not tell anyone. Not my worry wart momma or my neurotic ass boyfriend. Erica and I made a pact, and went in.

It was uncomfortable, I wont lie. Even though those boys were as nice as pie, we were still two old fat ladies asking about classes. Not only that but one of us is a huge UFC Stan who is trying desperately not to look like a 13 year old girl at a Bieber concert. Of course I thought, we will find out some shit, think about coming to class and leave. I was wrong, they made me sign a waiver and then told us that we should come for the BJJ Fundamentals class on Sunday. Why did I feel like everyone was laughing at me? So we left, her freaked out, me embarrassed and we said we would come back Sunday. Sunday started strange. We ate, showered and then I proceeded to put on every article of workout clothing I owned. I had NO idea what this situation entailed. The schedule didn't say what I was supposed to wear. How much was I gonna be on the floor? Does that mean shorts? I only own one set of sweatpants that I just bought the week prior. What the hell have I gotten myself into? I came out of my bedroom in the following. Shorts, sweatpants, underwear, sports bra, tank top, tank top, *that's right two tank tops* t-shirt and hooded sweatshirt. It was 500 degrees in that getup and I looked insane, so I figured I better scale it back.

After removing about 4 layers we left for class. 4 bottles of water? Check. We should be fine. We walk in and meet Topaz. He doesn't look nearly as young as the dudes we saw Saturday so we relaxed a little. We introduce ourselves and immediately we have to start jogging. This for me is comedy, because in 3 months the best I have been able to accomplish is attending PT and walking slightly faster than a senior citizen. Okay, so I guess I am jogging. Leg feels strong, I feel good so far. Now I am doing something called Shrimping. Basically I am using one leg to propel myself up the mat. Sure I am slow but I think I am doing it right. There are more warm ups, more jogging. I am beginning to question my sanity when he tells us to sit. Now we are on to ab work and by abs, I mean the place where I used to have muscle. Something tells me that I am not going to feel good later but then, I catch my breath and I start doing moves and Topaz teaches us posture, and side guard and I am understanding now. Everything I have been watching for better than 10 years is starting to connect in my brain and even though every muscle I own has determined that I am a horrible bitch for subjecting it to this class, I am happy and so is Erica. We watch closely every move, and when Topaz instructs we follow intently. Furthermore, we didn't die!

So, class one became class two (where even the apple, redbull, GU and coconut water I had didn't keep me from almost passing out during the boxing portion) and that was mad painful and I still cant raise my arms properly, I still went to class last night and even though I thought I was going to choke in the 15 push up circle, I managed not to embarrass my fat ass in front of a class of 20 somethings and you know what? I am hooked. The funny part is how patient these young dudes are with us. One was so eager to teach us submissions (when I was in the middle of my hypoglycemic attack) another wanted us to stay for a second class. Last night, a little bitty one was telling us how to score points in a tournament. Who tournament? Is he for real right now? Its funny but I honestly believe if I could go back tonight I would. If I were 10 years younger and could just spend all my time training I would dedicate myself to it fully and though I cant walk right now which is not shocking I feel like for the first time I am doing something I always wanted to do. No one has laughed at me, no one has told me that I cant do it, no body has tossed my lifeless body into the alley and though my everything hurts, my ankle does not and its fantastic. So after class 1 I told my kid, cause well he can hold water unlike other folks and he wont admonish me for the ankle thing. Not only that but he was very happy for me. He knows how much I love this stuff. So I will keep you posted. Maybe photos when I lose some weight at this rate it wont be long.

Oh and since I come here once in a blue moon, someone eloquently pointed out in the comments of my last post that as I was complaining about the writing in 50 Shades that I started the first four paragraphs with "so". First, this is a blog, its not a published book so don't think you are shading me by correcting my blog type grammar. I don't write this bitch for grades or book deals but thanks for your fuckass comment anon.

50 Shades of WTF?!?

So I've done the unthinkable. For a woman who prides herself on her literary acumen and writing prowess I have actually succumbed to the hype and decided to read what I can only describe as literary porn. I Avin have just finished Fifty shades of Gray.

So let me tell you why this is about as out of character for me as a fuzzy pink sweater. First, I'm not at all a romantic. I do not enjoy the occasional chick flick, love story or romance novel. I don't dig it. I don't like the idea if the helpless damsel in distress or the perils of Pauline where the woman is tied to the tracks waiting to be rescued. It goes against every survival instinct I have honed and every lesson I was taught by my super independent self sufficient momma. Seriously, we are talkin about a woman who wouldn't ever watch The Notebook, has never seen Love Jones and was forced to watch Love and Basketball. By the way I hated it. Not only did I find it implausible for the early 2000's but I thought it was archaic and I wanted to shake Sanaa Lathan for not having a spine and leaving that needy, pitiful Omar Epps when she had the opportunity. Seriously angry folks.

So, when I tell you that I've read 50 shades, it's beyond a stretch. Second, I typically enjoy a higher brow fare when it comes to my books. Favorite novels recently? The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls, the Dragon Tattoo series, Medium Raw, I know this much is true by Wally Lamb, Like water for Elephants and anything by Lee Child. I honestly don't like romantic fare or anything with a shirtless man on the cover. Don't even get me started on black romance novels. Can I even call them that? So hood and raunchy and downright unbelievable and foul I cant even believe they sell that crap. I was in Borders downtown a few years back looking for a respectable novel and what do I see in the African American fiction section? Thong on Fire. I shit you not. I was once roped into a Zane book by a coworker and I was so embarrassed halfway through that I wanted to put that book in a wood chipper.

So the idea that I would read what amounts to crap is baffling even to me. My roommate loves anything with Fabio or some other half naked man on the cover so this is totally up her alley, but I don't go for it. Cut to last week where for the umpteenth time I get to hear some woman gush over this book. Today it was on the radio. Up until that point I had only a vague knowledge of the subject matter. Some woman, some man, some S&M. Not interested. Don't get me wrong I am no ones prude at almost 40 years of age, but I damn sure haven't spent my days fantasizing about two white people in the throws of deviant sexual behavior. Okay let me rephrase that. After countless years of psychology classes in pursuit of a degree, I know more that I ever cared to about the psychology of human sexuality so a little description of whips and chains isn't really enough to run me off from a book. Trust me there are much scarier predilections to steer clear of.

What I had heard was super lightweight. Still if it's not in my purview the I am not interested, but people wouldn't shut up about it. Then I got an invite from FAC's ex girlfriend inviting me to a book club. I lept at the chance to go and discuss books with a bunch of women my own age until I heard the requirement. Read 50 shades before you come. Really people?

Fine, so I go and get the damn book on my Kindle Fire and start reading last week. I am surprised to say that while I don't think her writing sucks, she does spend a lot of time using the exact same adjectives "flush" for example is a worn out favorite of hers to describe blushing. I don't get the blushing thing but okay. Oh and "blaze" is another. She has got to go get a damn thesaurus. I have heard her describe different scenarios the same way about 30 times now. The plot seems fine, the characters are fully fleshed out, the settings are described well, and the pace seems on par...BUT lets not get twisted up in the game. This book, is about a Masochist with a heart of gold and I am really nervous for the glut of weak minded little suburban housewives who 1 thrive off of mock romance and 2 don't have two clues about the seedy ass nature of the paraphilla they are reading about. Homechick has made this some "hearts and flowers" (another over used description) jaunt through BDSM and they are not gonna like what this really is if they go looking for it.

I just get the feeling that somewhere between the feminists ranting about this book returning women to the dark ages and Dr. Oz spouting off about its amazing liberating qualities for women, there are gonna be a whole host of wide eyed, dumb ass women trolling the intrawebs for millionaire dominants with gray eyes and hearts of gold. I envision lawsuits....lots of them. Oh, and stories on the ID channel.

I wont pretend like they don't get into some of the dirtier bits, but talking about spanking and tying folks up gently with a silk necktie and actually being flogged, humiliated or engaging in sounding (please don't google that, you will not be happy) or suspension are two totally different things. I am kinda mad that I know all this stuff honestly. There are some seriously messed up people on this here earth, and they aren't all 26 and waiting to whisk you away for a night of light debauchery. The type of folks who engage in this stuff as a real hobby aren't fuckin around. They ain't gonna ask "Oh what am I going to do with you" (WAY overused) or offer you a soft blanket and a few Advil when they are done. They aim to kick your monkey ass.

Anywho, I read the book, and apparently there are more in the series. I am not necessarily looking forward to two more books of this fuckery but if the book is a requirement speed bump in order to get to the good shit then fine. I can manage. As books go its not terrible, but its no Memoirs of a Geisha.

Addicted

I’ve been keeping a secret. A huge secret that I hoped no one outside of a few close family members and friends would ever have to know. This secret has taken me three years to come to grips with, but sadly I fear that if I don’t unburden myself that the situation may never get better. The secret, as painful as it is to share could change the lives of so many people around me for the better, and I just refuse to sit in silence as everyone else around me suffers.

Three years ago, I was introduced by a friend (or who I thought was a friend) to a very hush-hush society of individuals. Without getting to far into it, I got hooked on something that I am not proud of. Something that haunts me every single day and makes me feel powerless to stop its hold on me. I know that by telling others I will have more and more trouble obtaining and hiding my addictions but I feel like nothing good can come of my current path. That is why I have taken it upon myself to change and bring this shameful secret out in the open.

I am addicted to Korean Fried Chicken and though you may have never heard of it, its powerful stuff. Korean Fried Chicken is difficult to obtain, and I have driven as far as New York in order to get it. I’ve never told certain people because I fear they will clog my beloved retailers and I will never have the opportunity to get it but now I see that by not speaking up, I could be hurting myself even worse.

As of November 2011 there are zero Korean Fried Chicken spots in the whole of Maryland. This is shameful and appalling, and frankly I am getting really tired of driving out to west hell or Virginia just to get it. It’s a tedious process and gas aint cheap. I was lucky enough to find one in Annendale but let me tell you, that’s a long ass ride and not at all fun. Then I found out they opened one in Fairfax and I vowed to spend my gas and time going there, but it struck me that there is not one single Korean Fried Chicken place in my home state, and while I don’t mind visiting NYC or VA its certainly not convenient. Probably better for my waistline but whatever! I need that Chicken!!!

There are at least 4 franchise options that could be staking their claim in MD but they aren’t. No Bon Chon, no Kyedong, no KyoChon and no UFC (unidentified flying chickens) in my state. Hell, only Bon Chon is outside of NYC and if you knew what I had been through to get that, you would lobby the first Korean you saw to open a stand in my state. Anyway, the reason I am even doing this is because possibly by drumming up enough interest someone will see what a great idea putting on in MD is and fulfill my dreams. I mean, I already know there is an untapped market. Most people love chicken, they love it more when its fried and well I don’t have to tell you how much black folks like chicken. We have dollars people, and frankly I am not giving them to the Colonial or Annie from Popeye’s. A Korean franchisee could be raking in the cash in a central spot like Largo or Greenbelt. Seriously, making a killing. And the thing about KFC is that if you build it they will come. They will believe I promise, because there is nothing else like it and we will keep you laced in the finest for the price of a few plates of chicken, pitchers of beer and cups of pickled dakon.

My issue is this, I would start one myself but (and not to sound racist) but do they even give those franchises to non Asians?? They are all based in South Korea, and I tell you right now I would be hella lost on that business deal. I just know that it would turn a massive profit.

So this is my plea. Please for the love of all that is good and holy someone place a Bon Chon or any of the others in my neck of the woods. I will patronize you like a damn zombie and never leave your side and I will bring all my family, friends and associates to worship at your temple of tasty chicken at the risk of not getting any for myself by flooding your store with believers. Please don’t make me keep driving away from my home I already gave up on Sonic, don’t let me lose faith in you! Sincerely, the KFC devoted from the state of Maryland.

Tears Dry on Their Own

Sad day in the life of Avin. The world lost a phenominal and troubled talent this weekend. I have been pretty quiet about my feelings on the subject (maybe because it still hasnt sunk in) but the passing of Amy Winehouse has hit me hard. I am trying desperately not to show it. I dont even know why honestly, I mean when did it become okay to hide emotion just because someone was rich and famous? Or worse because they lead a self distructive life? So maybe you arent riddled with addiction, but I bet there are some not so smart things youve engaged in that you are less than proud about and would hate to hear someone say "well, that's what happens when you xyz" about your untimely passing.

Sigh, in plain terms I was a fan. A real fan, who felt the notes she sang, and clung to Back to Black with the shattered pieces of my heart after the worst break up of my life. She got me through it and she built me back with Frank, and she made my heart soar with the B-sides when she filled my space with her rendition of Cupid. I still sing her Mark Ronson single Valerie as often as I can and the day I was blessed to go see her in concert in Philly at The Electric Factory, I new I was witnessing something special. So, yeah this hurts a little.

I wont even get into the path of ruin she was on. Everyone knew it and for months or years to come people will belabor and bludgeon her hard core drug use and alcoholisim. Unless youve ever loved someone struggling with additction then you probably will not understand. Frankly, I dont know what exactly was plagueing her but I hope that her soul is at rest.

Today is officially delcared Amy Winehouse day here and I will sit and mourn with my Amy station on Pandora and put Back to Black on repeat in the car on the way home tonight. How odd that I can listen to her music and when Teena Marie passed all I could think was "too soon, cant do it". I still dont think I have fully listened to a Teena song since that day.

Here is the piece that I wrote on her back in 2007.

"It’s the soundtrack of her life and its messy and complicated, but that’s
what makes it beautiful. Its layered, its heavy and its thought provoking
and downright as blunt as it gets. Its as smoky as any blues bar and so
personal it
reads like a diary. Its just Amy."

Rest in peace Amy, may your Grandma Ava be waiting there for you with free tickets to see Nas.

I'm On One...

One being a business trip of course. Every year about this time someone thinks its a grand idea to make me criss cross the damn country doing all sorts of work related nonsense. It is what it is people, so I can't fuss about it too much. I just remind myself that their is college to be paid for and overtime to be collected. Thing about the travel is the fact that you typically derail any weight loss plans or progress you've made prior to said trip.

This year was no exception and I found myself in the city of Chicago (Chi-town to some of y'all) and eating my way through a 10 day business trip. Basically, you work 13 hour days, don't get breakfast, barely score lunch and use your entire stipend to fill your belly with whatever is available to you at 8pm. The good news about this is that I had a bonafied Chicago restaurant foodie toting me around from place to place, so to say I ate well would be a huge understatement. This year's restaurant bucket list additions include The Girl and the Goat, where EVERY.DAMN.THING was good. From the home made bread and himachi appetizer to the dessert. Just fantastic. Another great addition was Blackbird and let me tell you I have probably never eaten that much in one sitting in my life. Everything was fantastic. Gruyere Ice cream? Banana Pan Pardue? Lamb bacon? Hawaiian black sea bass? Hell yes!

Okay enough about the food in Chicago. It was long and tiring and it put 5 of the 25 lbs I lost since March back on my behind. We will get to the weight loss thing in a second. So, then I came home and had a 5 day turn around before I flew off to Boston for another 6 days. To even insinuate that I was tired by then was a joke. My attitude started to suffer before I could clear security at O'Hare, so I was not looking forward to being cooped the fuck up with Drunky and a host of other needy folks. I spent most of my time waking up too early, moving tables for some crackhead facilitator, trying not to go to jail and eating. Eating being the most enjoyable. So by this time the size 10 pants I bought to go to Chicago are now extremely snug in Boston.

I am guessing I cleared another 4 to 5 lbs in Boston due to some seriously good eats. Most of which occurred in a little cafe/bar called Geoffrey's. Too much BLT, sweet potato fries, key lime pie, prosecco drinks and Disco Brunch. Oh and there was this thing called a donut muffin that probably caused some sort of irreparable damage to my system and very well could have shaved off years. It really was delicious though, just wrong but delicious. So I got home Tuesday, still in a pretty surly mood. Like seriously I don't really want to talk to anyone and I am not all that interested in being here. I was just nasty as fuck to a dude on the phone who probably didn't deserve it but had his facts mixed up. Don't assume dickhead and don't call here asking what my title is. Needless to say I just need to go the hell home and chill out. Its safer for everyone.

Oh and its 300 damn degrees today, so that isn't helping my disposition either. I am worried about the dogs being home in all this heat this weekend without Daddy and Bud and I am hungry again cause I had to basically start over again on my diet. Lets talk about the diet shall we?

So, I probably didn't mention it here but sometime in April I got the MF'ing flu. Full blown, terrible knock you out with fever and chills, sweating through clothes, barely coherent and miserable flu. Who the fuck gets the flu in April? I mean I had the exact same issue I had last time I got it which is I felt the signs, went to my doctor who told me it was fuckin acid reflux and then I spent the next week half dead with the flu. Seriously, can y'all get your symptoms straight? I know the difference between reflux and the GD flu!

So I spent my conscious hours watching daytime tv which included Dr. Oz and he was talking about the Dukan Diet. Low carb, low fat, high protein. I watched it for as long as I was awake, then I did a little more research once I got better and then I bought the book. Went on it in May in preparation for the graduation and immediately lost 5 lbs in the first 5 days. So it got better and easier as I went along and lost a solid 10lbs in less than a month. I started telling my mom about it and frankly anyone who would listen. This shit works people, no bullshit. So now mom is losing all kinds of weight and despite the heckling she is getting from her sister and friend she is looking real good. Really there is only one week of protein only and then you are on protein and veggies the rest of the time. I figure you can do almost anything for a week, especially if it works but hey y'all go on and keep laughing at my diet I will keep laughing at you trying to zip your pants.

On a whole other note, I have decided to hide my dumb ass ex husband's statuses on FB. The whole family is just crazy and stupid and they spend all their time telling FB about it. I cant have this kind of drama in my life and it reminds me that my son has been 100% better off for not having these loonies in his life for the last 18 years. Get thee some professional help and stay off my damn timeline.

Okay that's it, short and sweet.

Turning Tables

All kinds of crazy has been happening to my life since I left you and I guess I better catch up. Lets start with the good news, my wonderful son graduated from High School last Tuesday and I didn't cry my eyes out too much. I am proud and happy and just overjoyed for him. Now on to the crazy. You remember that open letter I wrote here for my ex husband? Well, there have been some developments. I think I best just take it back to the beginning and work my way down from there.

Sometime last month I was toiling in fields of this hellish plantation when my little "you've got a friend" request went off. I will cut right to the chase and tell you that it was none other than my ex husband asking to be my friend on FB. I figured that someone told him that I had just posted pictures of his son from the prom. Nosiness in my mind seemed to be the only thing that would warrant such blatant fuckery and line stepping on his part. So after I ranted, smoked half my pack, downed some anti-psychotics and basically melted down like a fuckin crazy person in this bitch, I proceeded to bury myself in work for the remainder of the day to remove myself from it. It was like having the devil look over your shoulder for 6 straight hours. Words cant even begin to describe the level of seething hot anger that was radiating from me. None the less I managed to make it through the day and not lose too much more of my cool, but it was close to being a real situation for me. I saw this as my opportunity to send that damn letter and be done with his absent ass once and for all. So, I sent him a FB message and asked him for his email address, which surprisingly he supplied. I was loaded for bear and ready to lower the boom with that incendiary device of a letter. Finally, I was gonna say my MFing piece about all the years of bullshit.

Now ask yourself if that's really how it went down....Yeah, didn't go that way at all. Somewhere between the plantation and the metro station I had a fit of conscience (which is unfamiliar territory for me considering my "act first think later" mentality) and started thinking about my amazing, wonderful (and completely dying on the inside because he cant reach his fuck of a father) son who wants nothing more than to have his dad see him cross that stage. At that moment I knew what I had to do. I had to put my letter on ice and give my son his father's email address. Damn it I hate when I make sense. So before I could start dreaming up more insidious and hateful shit to do, or worse before I could talk myself out of a smart decision I went home and gave him the email address. Then I told him hurry up and get in contact with his dad. I was unhappy but I knew it was right for my son.

So then I told my mother what I did and she told me I had done the right thing. Of course it didn't feel like it. I hate the high road because the path is full of rocks and thorns and the air is thin. That's when my son walked in and told me his father was very excited to come and wouldn't miss it for the world. Before that moment I just felt nauseous, after that moment I was hoping my suicide wouldn't be too much of a clean up. Seriously though, I was not looking forward to being in close quarters with this dude and my folks, and my poor boyfriend (who's 30th birthday was the same day btw) on my son's day of crowning achievement. Now I have to play nice, fan-fuckin-tastic.

Oh but hold on, it doesn't end there. Then, my cell phone buzzed and wouldn't ya know it, there is a text from none other than my fail ass ex husband. He wants to know why when he sends me a friend request I ask for his email. I didn't answer that honestly but I wanted to. I wanted to say that you came this close to getting a letter that would hand you your pathetic ass but nope, I just had a reasonable chat like an adult and that's when he went left and hit me with the apology.

That's right you read it right, this fool, Mr. missing in action sent me a damn apology and a thank you for raising my son. What does that even MEAN???? Seriously, what is that? I mean it was a general sweeping thank you and apology but still. I processed it as "You did an awesome job raising my kid while I was off playing daddy for some other folks, now that he is 18 I am sorry I wasn't there to help but now that there is no money involved I am back". Then, he says to thank my parents for all they did to get our son to this point. I am looking around like I am being punked. Seriously, where is the hidden camera? Just let me know now so I can get the shock over with.

He decides that he should share how he moved out of his marital home with that fat, non cooking sow he married and that he has changed, grown up...found god (stop me when you start to gag or your eyes refuse to roll back down out of your head) and wants to make amends with everyone he has hurt, especially me and his son. So I said, oh okay and then I stopped texting and went the hell home to drink a bottle of wine. I couldn't deal. Prom nearly took me out emotionally the Saturday prior and I had just spent the evening licking envelopes and mailing out graduation announcements all while having a text conversation with the person I possibly hate the most in the entire world while he tells me that he wants to make 13 years of emotional torture and mental pain right.

I came home and I couldn't even get the story out to Erica. I just cried through the whole thing. Blubbered like a damn fool cause I was even more angry than I had been prior to his contact. How dare you want to make it right now, after all the hard work is done. Between sobs and gnashed teeth I said "I could have lived the rest of my life without ever hearing this. I was fine hating him, and now if I don't let him make this right for Billy I am the asshole." So I slept on it. Fitfully mind you. Maybe it was the half gallon of wine I drank to drown out the emotion of the day. Needless to say after that chat I was not looking forward to graduation day. I decided that the text chat (and the friend request) warranted some sort of response. So the next day I wrote him this.

Hall,

Listen I really appreciate the conversation we had last night. Billy
is really excited that you are going to be able to come to his
graduation. He has worked much harder than you know for this moment
and it meant a lot to him to have you there watching him on the
biggest day of his young life. He is super proud of himself and he
should be.

As for the Facebook friendship thing...I don't want you to take this
the wrong way but I don't know if I am really ready for that. I have
spent a whole lot of years being very disappointed in your involvement
in Bill's life, and while I honestly believe that you mean me and him
no harm its tough for me not to still have some anger where you are
concerned. I forgave you a long time ago, but its been hard to forget
so give me some time. I don't hate you, but there is still pain.

What I really want is for you to get to know your son. Really know
him. He is about as cool a person as you could ever know. Smart and
funny and really genuine of heart. Doesn't care about money or titles
or where he falls on the popularity scale and he already has his
career picked out, which btw he is really good at.

You and I can work on this friendship thing. I am not against it.

I will let you know what the deal is with the bus
situation. We will get it worked out.
Tiff

See that? That's me again, on the GD high road. Why in the world would I feel it necessary to respond? My son, that's why, and anything that makes him happy is gonna be what I do. The letter isn't quite as sincere as it looks. I mean, come on who really forgives and forgets? Not me pal, I just threw that last bit in for gramatical color. There were a few more emails. Him explaining, me explaining. You know....hell you don't know cause I don't know. It was just weird.

I figured that the weeks between Prom and that day would be filled with angry tears and enough red wine to float a ship but things were so crazy busy that I just simply didn't have time to commit to any of it emotionally. Sometimes the lord knows what he is doing when he makes you so damn busy you cant see straight. Graduation straight snuck up on me and with it so did that fail ass bus lady's email at 4pm on the Saturday before. Telling me "sorry, I didn't get your seats" which sent me into another emotional fit thinking about what was gonna happen when we had to drive down there. Would I be stuck in a seat between him and my boyfriend? What the hell was going to happen to me on Graduation day? That's when I remembered that I wrangled 4 extra tickets from that fool at the school and because of the bus problem I wasn't able to use one. I managed to get my son's favorite cousin invited and that broke up the seating enough to make us take three cars. Its a damn good thing I am smart.

So the day arrived and I was running around like a damn basket case. I am pretty hard to unspazz once I start, and this day was no exception. I got my son out of the house early and I came back and got dressed and tried not to be unreasonably ill. At this point I am gonna fast forward cause the graduation was a blur. He was very cordial, and really not at all what I expected. The day just flew by. Introductions, driving, parking, running, sitting, snapping photos, leaving the venue, more photos, walking, more driving, more photos, lunch and that was that. He was gone by 3:30 and I dropped the kid at a graduation party. The boyfriend and I went to his dads to finish out his birthday and the evening ended.

I feel like I left something out.....Oh wait yeah the part where we had Bills party Saturday and a check came from the child support office for $600. Could have knocked me the MF over with a feather. I was shocked and I damn near passed out but once I got over the shock I hurried up and put it in the bank. That was Sunday, father's day...and well...I friended him on Facebook and my first official olive branch was a happy father's day post on his wall. Did I say I hate the high road??? I just don't understand myself sometimes. I guess its cause I want all this so badly for my kid. Cause if being understanding and letting this dude make amends will give him even an ounce more happiness then I will do it.

How do I feel about all this honestly? I really don't know. I mean some of those emails we exchanged got weird. Like, there is a real foggy retelling of the past on his part that almost made me flare up but hell just cause I remember 13 years ago like it was yesterday doesn't mean that he does. That and his new found comfort with expressing his feelings sort of vexes me too. At a point I thought he was hitting on me (which I highly doubt now looking at his new GF) no seriously, he said something about touching my hand during the MANDATORY prayer at Kevin's memorial service (yall remember, where I had to babysit his monkey ass) and he said he "felt" something (pause, blink blink). I stopped short of telling him that what he felt was the searing anger lapping at the surface of my composure. That was upsetting for sure, that and he uses the word love very liberally, like shaking on salt, which I find confusing and well...bitch made for a man. Not only that but he is way too chummy with me like the 10 years prior to the split were fodder for good times, jokes and drinks. Um no, you put me through hell homie I haven't forgotten. Last but definitely not least is my utter distaste for his professing to make it up to ME personally. You can go head with that man, I'm good. I don't need to be made up to, I need you to do that with the boy. Do I still hate him? Ehhh fuck me I don't know, but do I think he is the braying ass I pegged him for 3 months ago? Time will reveal. I am willing to see how this goes.

In the end I did send that letter and to his credit he took it for what it was and again apologized and admitted that there was nothing untrue in it. I give him a little credit there. That letter was a motherfucker. Granted, I am not liking having him in my daily consciousness. Its tough watching his every damn move on FB and trust me he posts a whole bloodclot lot. Photos and shit, its ridiculous. Hall checked in here, Hall likes this restaurant, Hall likes this bar, Hall got new tires here, Hall quotes this bible passage (no seriously wtf) Hall is in a relationship with Tina. BTW that makes three T's as relationships. Me, the new exwife and the new girlfriend. Its getting out of hand. I am not gonna tell you how to live your life man but you probably shouldn't get another chick's name tattooed on you. Let me not even go there about the leaving your marital home in February and being in a committed relationship (sans separation agreement and divorce decree) by June. I think this is how some other stuff popped off in June of 98. Let the dust settle, damn.

I would like to add one spiteful note to this post because I dont spout off about the bible in all my emails and FB posts, and I still cuss like a sailor and occasionally drop it low. I think that karma is amazing. This week thanks to FB I had the pleasure of seeing my exhusband post photos of himself and the new girlfriend with his two children by the new exwife. I immediately flashed to that time that my son came home from a week long trip with his daddy and new girlfriend (that's new exwife to you) and announced that he was made to sleep in the bed with them the whole trip. He didn't even know we were splitting up. That crow must be cold and greasy new exwife, and that karma must be hot like fire. You reap what you sew bitch. Good luck covering up that heinous wolf tattoo with Hall's name. Okay now I am done :)

WINNING?

I wonder if everyone would think the Charlie Sheen thing was so hysterical and full of quotables if he were a black man. I mean mental illness isnt funny to start but what kind of reaction do you think the public would have if this were Denzel? Or Tracy Morgan? Remember when Martin was waving that pistol in traffic a few years ago after smoking some boat? Yeah...exactly.

Would it be funny then, or would he need to be locked up for the safety of society?

Look At Me Now

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.

Deuces The Remix....An Open Letter To My Son's Father

I said I wasn't going to do this, but I didn't realize how strongly I would feel about it until the day came, and now with that day right ahead of me, there is an inescapable pull to say my piece, and this is exactly what I am going to do. I didnt even bother to write it as my alter-ego. This is real life, and this is me at my most sincere.

Dear Hall,

On March 7th, 2011 our child will turn 18. I have some pretty strong feelings about that age and what that milestone really means for him, but more than that, I have spent the last 13 of those 18 year practically silent on the subject of your role as his father. As the day approaches I am filled with questions about his future that I can not answer, like who will he turn out to be, will he continue to be the conscientious and caring young man that he is today, will he find love, and employment, and happiness in a world so filled with obstacles and hate? Furthermore, will the sins of the father color his maturity as he rushes headlong into manhood?

Its been a long time coming, a lot of skinned knees and ear infections, a lot of late nights and early mornings, a bunch of empty pockets and unfulfilled promises, and more than that there has been a lot of absence. Namely you. Our marriage didn't last, and I grant that it wasn't supposed to. I am not the same girl of 12 that embarked on a grown up, interracial relationship with a boy of 13 from a broken and dysfunctional home. I am not the same girl who rebelled against her parents to conceive a child with that boy and attempt marriage at 18. Who I am now, is something far different and far greater. I am a mother in the truest sense of the word. A lot older and wiser but that is who I am. That is what I chose.

I will never understand what made you decide to walk away from your son. I will never comprehend how even if you detested the very sight of me you could just stop giving a damn about him. You spent countless years ducking the child support system and forcing me to run all over town chasing you from state to state for a measly $200 a month. A figure that was never increased, a figure that sometime you paid, when you felt like it or not at all for years at a time. $200, which I always figured was the equivalent of beer and cigarette money, that you couldn't send your only child at the time, to ensure that he was fed or clothed or whatever. It wasn't a lot then, its not a lot now. I wonder how you justify it. I thank god everyday for my parents, that they were so willing to step in and help Billy and I survive and that's what we are talking about. Survival. If you didn't want to be married, that was fine. If you didn't want to have a black wife to explain, that's fine too, but to just up and not give a shit about the child that carries your name's well being? Never, I will never understand it.

Then you went off and married a woman with a child from a previous relationship. As hard as it is to admit, I was unbelievably hurt that you would walk away from a marriage and a child to adopt and support another woman and her kid. I know that some day my Bill will do the math and realize that while you were playing house with another woman he was being shoved aside. I never thought you were a racist, but maybe you were. Maybe it was just too embarrassing to have a little brown child call you daddy. I will never know, but I do know this. I didn't run out an remarry (although I could have) and let some other man raise my kid or have a revolving door of men in and out of his life. I am sure you don't know and don't care how difficult it was for single black mother to date. I am sure it wasn't even in your consciousness how many times I was looked at like a pariah for being young and black with a baby. See they don't ask, and don't care if you were married and your husband walked out on you after 5 years, they say "Aww, look at the statistic" and treat you like your stupid. I put up with the assumptions and the whispers and sometimes the downright blatant and direct discrimination but I was taught a valuable lesson, no man should ever define me and no person's opinion of my circumstances should matter. All that made me stronger for my son.

So now I understand that the marriage you threw us aside for has ended and I cant help wonder what will become of those kids. Will they be treated better, seen more, supported more because they and their mother aren't brown? Will you hug them more, love them more and tell your friends about them even though the marriage crumbled? Will you give them what our son deserved in a father all those years ago?

The list of offences committed against your first born son is shameful and I remember every single one and this list is just the tip of that iceberg. I remember him having to sleep in a bed between you and your new wife before he even knew we were divorcing. I remember him coming home from that trip and looking at the picture of me in my wedding gown and saying "Daddy never should have married mommy". I remember him having to sleep on the cold floor after just having his tonsils out because you were too selfish to give him the bed. I remember him coming home missing clothes, or with dirty clothes, or without his blanket or his stuffed animals because you didn't want him to have them. I remember him coming home from trips feeling like he was an outsider and you wouldn't spend any time with him. I remember how skinny he was and how his bones protruded through his back when he came from visiting one summer because your wife cant cook and he was hungry for a month. I remember you calling me every time you found out some news through the grapevine about my son that would undermine my parenting skills. I remember him having to sleep on your sofa and watch your ever growing brood of "new white" children all summer while your fat wife sat on her non-working ass. I remember the year he came home an told me that you bragged about the support you sent me for him and I had to break down the entire structure for him so that he could see how much that really was and I remember you yelling at him for clogging your toilet and feeling like he couldn't even take a shit in your precious house. What I remember most recent is telling him after he tried and tried to get you on the phone for Christmas, not to worry about it, or you sending me a Facebook message about him not thanking you for his 3 week late Christmas gift, or that you have no idea who his girlfriend Mia is. I remember telling him when the subject of you helping with college came up that he was going to be 18 soon, and that he shouldn't count on any support from you in his endeavors.

What I don't remember is birthday cards or gifts, questions about school, visits, you and him time, consistent support, Christmas presents that "HE" asked for and giving a shit in general. I don't remember any of that happening. Never, none of it. You had time to raise an entirely new family all while ignoring your first born. With the exception of your sisters side of the family, no one even gave a shit that Billy was alive. To this day I don't believe your mother has ever called him on his birthday or Christmas. Through all of that I never kept him from you. I never stopped him from seeing you and I never told him anything disparaging about you. I let him make the choices. I assume for you it was easy to walk away because you knew we would do your job for you.

We did do it. The three of us. Me, mom and dad we raised YOUR son. We filled his belly, and planned his parties, and bought his school lunch and clothes. We gave him warm rooms to sleep in, and toys, video game systems and books and pets. We gave him encouragement and love and scolding when he needed it. We dried his tears and listened to his dreams and took him on trips. We were there for his first day of school, his swim meets and his first broken heart. We gave him freedom, and haircuts and expensive ass tennis shoes, cell phones, suits and pocket money to take his girlfriend to Chipotle. We gave him what you wouldn't. A family. We provided what you couldn't. Love. We did all this not because you were absent, we did it because he was present. I wont list the sacrifices we all made because they honestly don't matter. The double jobs and late nights don't mean a thing. If I had it to do all over again I would do just that, because he means the world to me. The pride I feel for my son could never be tarnished by what you did or didn't do for him in the last 18 years of his life.

So, in conclusion let me say this. I wrote this letter for one reason, and that is to say goodbye. See, no matter how excited you must feel about never having to intermittently cough up $200 for the son you conceived and largely ignored I am quadruple that amount happy for never having to engage in any communication with you again in life. 18 means something different to all of us, and for me it means that the relationship that I made Billy have with you, albeit pitiful and sparse is no longer my responsibility. My son, the one that you chose to neglect, is the sole barer of that responsibility and he will determine from this point on whether or not HE wants to deal with you. On any level. My silence is over. My protection of you in the eyes of my kid has ended. I will not lie to make you seem better. I will not bite my tongue about your shitty parenting, and I will no longer force him to make any attempts at contact with you.

For everything you did to us, for every torturous year of pain and neglect we still made it. Billy and I are walking out of the other side of this tunnel holding hands, mother and son. An unbreakable bond of love and support. We are stronger than we've ever been because of each other, because not only did I guide and show him the way, he showed me too. He gave me the reason to believe in myself and push hard to become who I am. He taught me how to love, and he showed me what the meaning of work ethic is and what the word fight really means. We really are okay. He is, I am, they are. We are all just fine.

In closing, I usually end all of my break up letters with the same phrase and as this is the biggest most important breakup letter I've ever written this will be no exception because I have probably never meant it so much.

Good luck in your endeavors
Tiffany

All I Want Is You

Or in the case of some women, all they want is anyone who will take them. So, there is this other blog that I read on a daily basis. Of course I am totally a lurker and I never ever comment, but just recently he has has a guest blogger on talking about relationships. She in turn did a fabulous post on the art of the chase called "Who's the Rabbit" which totally spoke to me. Not personally, because for the first time in about 17 years I do not have any relationship issues. Basically, it spoke to me because I have so many female friends who are content to be the rabbit (which isn't a bad thing mind you) but the lazy, whiny, injured and pathetic rabbit. You know, the limpy rabbit that the wolf decides is WAY easier to catch and dismember than the fast moving bunny? Sigh, so many times women have convinced themselves that they have no active role in the chase. So you are pretty, and so you are thin (for now) and you've got all the flyest clothes and shoes that your maxed out little credit card can buy. Gold star for you I guess, but what happened to having any substance and really what happened to not falling into the arms of the first dude you meet every.damn.time.

No one is saying you have to be Ms. Hardcase but please for the love of god stop being the low hanging fruit. I have one friend who is going to marry every man she has ever dealt with. Now, they aren't aware of this fact and most times once they catch wind they get gone fast, but she seriously has NO standards. They can be broke, corrupt, boring, ugly, diseased (sorry but its true) too young, too old, perpetual liars, have no job, no car, no future and she will still take them. Every time its the same scenario, she gets too close too fast, introduces them to her kids (like that has ever stopped a man from leaving) and starts planning the wedding. She is 40 and I would chalk it up to her biological clock but she already has two kids and she has been doing this since she was 22 (I shit you not). Every break up is the end of the world, and every man was the one. Even if he left you stranded three states away and took your bank card and car.

I suggested (stupid me) that perhaps she might want to look within for answers as to why this was happening, and then she got pissed off. Seriously people, I know how much we hate admitting that we have issues, but if you cant honestly look in the mirror and go "you know what, I might have done XYZ or I might need some help with my self esteem" then you are just doomed to repeat the same behavior patterns time and time again. BTW this particular breakup has been going on since September. As usual I am trying to be supportive, but her willingness to curl into the fetal position and die is just astonishing to me. When was that ever okay? Sure, you are hurt and it sucks and maybe you were blindsided by it, but there are ways to handle it. First off, if you really want to wallow in your own self pity, then at least do it right. Get on the couch, get fatty foods, cry your weekend away and on Monday morning get your ass out the bed and paint on whatever smile is gonna march your ass through it, and keep moving. Seriously, if you have time to let this consume your whole life then you need more to do. I am blindsided when its time to go get my brows waxed again. That's how busy my life is. Crying for weeks and months? In who's world?

Also, if you aren't going to do anything about the fact that you've chosen to be pathetic and broken (and lets be honest, you chose that) then do not be shocked when things don't change. Don't be angry when you are still sitting up crying cause you still answer his calls and he decided to use you as a punching bag. Seriously, don't do that. It makes you look completely insane. Furthermore, I cant figure out why you would want anyone to know that they have broken you like that. I got my shit rocked at a fitness class one time and wouldn't let the instructor see me limp away I'll be damned if I ever let some man think he broke me. When did it become okay to show the world you are beaten? Even if you gotta fake it till you make it that's way better than letting life (or some dumb ass man) kick you when you are down.

I use her as the example but really a lot of them are the same. I have friends who turn a blind eye to blatant disrespectful fuckery and cheating. I have friends who go back to the same abusive asshole time and time again. I have friends who think if they are subserviant enough that a man will value them. I have friends who nod and smile and agree with any and everything a man has to say and I have friends who are just like the Perils of Pauline. Always tied to the railroad tracks waiting to be rescued. God forbid I suggest to any of them that they pick themselves up and march forward. You would think I asked them to kill a puppy! Its like the idea of being responsible for ones own misery is an affront to their femininity. Ladies I promise you can still be cute and strong. You can still care about yourself and how people treat you and wear a dress. The two are not mutually exclusive.

I know that I have probably mentioned it before but perhaps the reason I am not doing any and everything I can to please a man is because I was already married. I already have a child. I already know that none of these things changes a damn thing if you are already damaged. You just spend your time damaging your kid or ruining a marriage. Without the incessant tick of a biological clock, I am free to care about one thing. ME and I do care. There is no man I would ever put above my own safety or mental health. There is no prize large enough to make me blindly follow somone who clearly doesnt have my best interest at heart. Sorry, but my mother taught me better than that. It stinks of desperation. Oh and women if you think a man cant smell this type of desperation, fear and self pity all over you, you are sadly mistaken. You are nothing but prey. Easy pickins to be later discarded. It hangs on you like a cheap coat and its not at all attractive. They see you cowering over every little thing, they see your daring but desperate outfit, they know you shouldn't be your age in the damn club looking for a relationship, and they know damn sure well that you shouldn't have bought that lie they just told or that coat they are wearing either. Just have some pride about yourselves. They are hungry, and you are gonna get ate.

Here we go again...

So I know that for the last year and a half I have been gaining weight like its my full time occupation. Some if it is the whole being in a relationship thing but a large part of the problem is my love for red wine. Think about it, you get home from a hard day at work and settle into whatever program is entertaining and what could be better than a lush and full-bodied bottle I mean glass of ruby red wine?

Flavors of dark berries chocolate, espresso and black pepper accompany heavenly aromas. Seriously, who could not love this?? So, my greatest love is also my biggest downfall and the reason I am rocking this roll around my middle. Nothing says pack on the pounds like 500 empty calories and 4.7 grams of carbohydrates right before bed. Anyway, I am back to dieting again which is now more like the cousin I go visit in the fall and the spring. Familiar yet annoying.

This diet thing always makes me so damn hungry, and it looks like every time I restrict what I eat I find new and exciting restaurants to try out. So, this year I decided that I am going to create a 2011 Restaurant Bucket List if you will. Filled with cant miss restaurants and chefs. Last year is going to be pretty damn hard to top honestly. I managed to eat at some great places all over the country. Here are just a few of the highlights.

Art & Soul - Washington, DC - Chef Art Smith crushes the oyster hoecakes and Maryland style fried chicken.

Upperline - New Orleans, LA - Foie gras appetizer and Honey Pecan bread pudding with Toffee sauce.

Dante's Kitchen - New Orleans, LA - Shrimp and Grits. No seriously.

Cafe Lurcat - Minneapolis, MN - Miso glazed Sea Bass

Bar La Grasa - Minneapolis, MN - Soft eggs and Lobster bruchetta with truffle oil and authentic fresh carbonara.

Boudreaux - San Antonio, TX - Duck 3 ways and table made guac!

Biga on the Banks - San Antonio, TX - Tempura gulf shrimp with chili-lime noodles, watermelon, peanuts and mint. Oh and the sauteed mushrooms!

Zinc - San Antonio, TX - Truffled Parmesan fries and amazing wine selection.

1500 Degrees - Miami, FL - EVERY.DAMN.THING the Porkbelly tacos and duck fat fries. Oh and I got to meet the chef so I am particularly partial to this place.

I've been to plenty of other places too, but these are the standouts. I mean unbelievable meals that wont soon be surpassed or forgotten. This years list will have a lot to do with location availability but I am going to try my damnedest. So far I know that I will be in Chicago, Boston and San Diego this year so that will determine quite a bit of what I get the opportunity to sample. Also, there are a few restaurants here at home that I am dying to try out. I just never get the opportunity. Oh yeah, and I am supposed to be dieting. Only I could start a post about dieting and end it with copious amounts of food. This is going to be a long year.

I'll Be Home for Christmas

Yesterday I witnessed (albeit by playback) a bonafied Christmas Miracle. The Eagles, my Eagles (you're not the boss of me) pulled off the win of the mothergrabbin century yesterday evening.

It was in the final moments of the game (that no network on the east coast saw fit to televise, which held the coveted top seat of the NFC East, that I spent the better part of yelling at my ESPN ScoreCenter app on my phone) when DeSean Jackson's 65 yard punt return put the Eagles at 10-4 and gave them the coveted big piece of chicken at the head of the NFC East table.

What can I say? It was the comeback story of the year. I just wish that I could have actually seen the damn game instead of watching the Colts and Jaguars. I ought to march down to FOX and kick the fuck out of whoever decided this lineup. Why in the world would you decide not to play a game that important on network TV on the east coast? I almost had a coronary cause of you whomever you are.

I do have a question though. Who was the idiot who kicked off to DeSean Jackson? No seriously, who said to themselves "I'm going to kick it to the fastest little boy in the NFL. Oh wait I know who it was, it was you.

This genius laying spread eagle *snicker* is Matt Dodge. His super smart coach Tom Coughlin had instructed him to kick the ball out of bounds. That worked well. I am sure there was a meeting shortly after that game.

So speaking of my team, lets talk about them shall we? I'm going to start with Vick, who for all intents and purposes has been doing really great things with his time in Philly. I think he just needed to have the opportunity to try. In the lead for Pro Bowl votes, putting up crazy numbers passing and scoring and not to mention he has been unwilling to complain or cry about some of those decidedly fucked up plays that have caused him certain or possible injury. BTW, we can get into the debate about whether or not you think that he has the same protection a Manning, Brady or even Rivers has out there another time. I know where I stand on it but that's neither here nor there.

So, I know what you are going to say. "But Avin he killed dogs" and I will say yes, I agree with you on that proven fact. Then you will say "but there is no way that we should allow him to live or breath after spending two years in the pen and basically making no money in the NFL for this and the next however many seasons while he repays his debt." And to that I will say "look, do I approve of what he did? Nope. Do I think that there are some fundamental cultural differences in his upbringing that didn't alert him to this as reprehensible? Yep.

So, I am not excusing it. I am however applauding the fact that he has chosen to own his crimes and do something about them in the face of the public. I haven't seen R. Kelly admit to peeing on 14 year olds or Ben Rothelsberger admit to sexually assaulting teen girls, doesn't stop y'all from coppin that album or swinging that towel so STFU about Vick. At least he actually seems sorry.

Next up, DeSean. Dear sweet DeSean. My sweet little (and I do mean little) 24 year old prodigy. I am thankful for your presence on the Eagles every Sunday, Monday and Thursday you play. I am filled with team spirit every time I see you run down the field to score and I cheer for your every silly little touchdown celebration.

How.mother.fucking.ever. I feel the need to scold you on a repeated basis for your ignorant ass behavior. When we won last week you sort of irritated me cause you wouldn't let Michael Vick do his after game interview. You were all in the shot like Diddy used to be back in the day (oh wait, he is still all in the shot, never mind) and poor Mike was just trying to answer the questions. Here you are throwin up gang signs in the back acting like a 12 year old. Then you got a chance to talk.

(Long deep exasperated sigh) I said then "he is young, and excited and its okay". So I mention on twitter how happy I am about the win and one of my Eagle fan friends says to me "Yeah, but I don't ever want DeSean to act like that again in life". Being the Stan I am, defended him and proceed to follow his tweets. Partly because I knew how excited he was, and partly because he reminds me of a considerably smaller, less attractive version of my 17 year old son. True story.

Anyway, fast forward to me having to hear from someone on Fox's sports commentator panel announcing the Eagles win. They cut to the game winning touchdown and there is DeSean. Running his little tiny yellow heart out, and the end zone is feet away, and this (breathe Avin) child...this child runs away from the end zone and then back in to win the game.

Two things went through my mind at that moment. Thank you sweet minty Jesus for that win and what would have happened if he dropped that ball or god forbid someone caught up with him in time to tackle his crazy monkey ass?? I think the whole of Philadelphia would have been waiting for his return to dismember him. He says (or they say, or some damn body said) that he did it to run the clock out, but I know showboating when I see it. I didn't make it this far without knowing when you are trying to get your shine on instead of doing what you are supposed to do. So of course I check twitter and he starts sending these tweets after the game that make me want to choke him. Sigh.

I say all this to put out in the air that I need him to grow up quickly. No one is questioning your talent, but you are annoying and you make me want to hurt you. Less talking, less tweeting, less stunting and more catching and running. that's it.

Okay, enough with the football. My mother just informed me that Christmas dinner will include 28 people this year and one very important quasi relative. My stupid ass step-brother. Seriously, why me? What would be the purpose in having him there? Lord I have been patient and kind this year in the face of adversity (and you know who and what I am talking about) so why would you set him up to be cussed out at Christmas time? That just doesn't seem fair to me. Here's wishing for another Christmas miracle that makes him go poof and disappear from my presence on Christmas day. I am just glad my man is coming. He has already been alerted to the fuckery and has been waiting a lengthy period of time to crack someones face for them. I sure hope Step-Conartist stays in his lane. Could be embarrassing.

Happy Holidays!

Bitch are you crazy?

I've seen some pretty bold things in my day. I've seen all types of people talk slick and attempt to get away with it. I've seen folks pretend they aren't throwing shade when they clearly are and I've seen some pretty blatant attempts at presenting fuckery as genuine however, never in all my years have I heard of something this bold. The honorable (and I use that term as loosley as I do when describing Nikki Minaj as a rapper) Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas wife Virginia "Ginni" Lamp Thomas lost her mind and got real reckless last week. In some misguided folly, Mrs. Thomas decided that 19 years was just too long to sit quiet and picked up her flip phone (come on you know all know that old batch got a jitterbug flip phone) and dialed up Anita Hill.

Write for your audiance Avin. First, I forget that some of yall were still in diapers when this went down. My baby neice who was born in 91 is now almost twenty and has a child and a husband. My son wasnt even thought of, and my boyfriend was 10 (yeah I like em young so what?) so lets take it back.

Back before the black community started referring to Justice Thomas as Uncle Clarence Thomas on a fulltime and regular basis. This crazy negro was chairman of the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. Anita Hill worked with/for him and spent an inordinate amount of time fending off repeated advances and other acts of workplace fuckery. Some of which were graphic recountings of hardcore pornography, and asking his female coworkers about their breast size. There was also some random ass foolishness about pubic hairs and coke cans. So when the Thomas confirmation hearings began, all of this came to light. Even crazier was the fact that he was presenting himself as some sort of ultra conservative with a lily white wife. He likened it to some sort of high tech lynching. I dont have a clue what was high tech about anything in 1991 with the exception of the Sony Discman but hey, you call it dancing I call it shuffling. Mind you, I was only 15 so even my memory on all this is a little hazy. I was way too interested in De La Soul, herringbone chains and Champion sweatshirts. You want more info, google it.


Now, maybe you are thinking that after all these years Ginni wanted to bury the hatchet and offer Ms. Hill an olive branch. You sadly would be incorrect. Mrs. Thomas in her infinite wisdom made that call for one reason and one reason only. To ask the woman who suffered untold amounts of public humiliation at the hands of her crazy ass husband for an apology. In fact, here is the exact message she left:

“I would love you to consider an apology sometime and some full explanation of why you did what you did with my husband. So give it some thought and certainly pray about this and come to understand why you did what you did. OK, have a good day.”

That sound you just heard was the collective WTF from every black woman in the nation. First, let's talk about the logistics of this here call. Ms. Hill, a professor of social policy, law, and women's studies at Brandeis University received this call on her work voicemail. Now I don't know about you but I can not even fathom someone calling me on my job to solicit a donation much less an apology. This is my damn place of business. If it's not work related you better stay the hell off my phone. Second, the context of this call should have been enough to send Ms. Hill downstairs to her car to remove her jewelry and Vaseline her situation before taking a road trip to beat the brakes off this bold ass bitch. Third, in what alternate universe does Ginni Thomas live in that would suggest to her it would be a grand ass idea to ask the woman her husband sexually harassed for an apology?

Now, to Ms. Hills credit she didn't gather her homegirls and ride on that bitch. No, she simply listened to the message and turned the recording over to the police. Kudos to her for displaying both class and professionalism during what I can only imagine was a very stressful and crazy incident. Had that been me, you, my momma, your momma, Janice down at the post office, Ke-Ke in accounting or Barbara who works the desk at your hairdresser we'd have all been in jail right now or at least the lead story on the 11 o'clock news.

I don't know what would posess this obviously batty old white biddy to lose her mind like this but I sense it might be two things. One, she is attempting to put the spotlight on her new found profession in the Tea-bagger game. Thomas started a nonprofit tea-party affiliated lobbying group, Liberty Central, to organize conservative activists, issue score cards for Congress members, and be involved in elections. The group is aimed at opposing what she has refered to as the leftist "tyranny" of President Obama and Congressional Democrats. Or two she honestly is as fucked up and nutso as her husband. See I do remember her slightly from those hearings. Looking dowdy and brainwashed standing there supporting this husband who clearly wasnt the person she so desperately needed to believe in. She was sad. Look at her little milquetoast dress and tragic little haircut.

It was 91 but theres no excuse. Let me show you some picks of my momma at that time. It wasnt a game.

So, after shaking my head in disbelief over this nonsensical nonsense I discussed this with my man, my mother and my roommate. My man said that it's clear that Mrs. Thomas is some sort of bare-knuckle boxing champ the likes of Cain Velasquez because she would have to know she was the baddest bitch in town to pull a stunt like that on a black woman and not wind up dead. After I stopped laughing I knew that couldnt be it.

My mother simply chalked it up to the hype surrounding her teabag aspirations. She also said that if Uncle Clarence had any sense he was somewhere thunking the shit out of Ginni for boiling this shit back up to the surface. Yes, Clarence we had almost forgot about you up there chillin in the highest court in the land. Well...I had anyway.

My roommate (who is biracial half black and white) said that Mrs. Thomas was "a stupid white bitch" (her words not mine people) and that this shows the type of blind devotion to her man that only a white woman could have. She also added thats the reason she lets black men know up front that her momma is black in case they wanna get it twisted and think they got them a tan Becky to push around.

Truth be told some black men who like white women do so because they like the subservient nature and blind dedication that some of these women bestow upon their men. Is it politically correct to say that? No. Do we all talk about it? Hell yes. Black men have said it time and time again. They are tired of the drama and loud mouths that come with black women and they opt for lighter (pun intended) alternative. The chatter amongst us black women though is that nine times out of ten the black men that prefer white women wouldn't register on our radars anyway so it's no huge loss. I mean look at Clarence. You wouldnt want him and that tidbit only strengthened my belief in Anita Hill's story. She was young and attractive then, and though not young anymore she is still pretty fly.

Thomas on the other hand. Well just look at him.


No wonder you had to sexually harrass someone.
In any event, what do you think caused Virginia Thomas to take leave of her senses and call Anita Hill? I personally feel like its two fold. Part tea-bag crap and part heaping helping of salty ass hate. They seem happy dont they....Dear God 2.0 indeed.

Live Fast and Die Young

Yeah I know, just go on and give me the "where the fuck you been" look and lets keep it moving. My life is busy. Yes I say that every time I reemerge and peep my head out to type a few lines on this thing. Truth is truth, I am busy. Okay I am not THAT busy but I do have another new job that I am attempting to learn and another boatload of fun responsibilities. The good news is that with the exception of my roommate's funny money situations fucking up the Internet payments nothing should prevent me from getting on here and typing out the equivalent of a hot 16. Or a lukewarm 16 whatever.

Things are good I guess. I mean my job is some craziness but its a damn sight better than that place I was before. I think I may have actually harmed someone there if I had to stay any longer. The boy is a senior now. Still driving me insane, still doing dumb shit but now he does dumb shit with a beard. He is lazy as shit and I spend more time fussing at him about doing things than he actually spends doing the thing I fuss at him about. He is still a good kid though, he is just a boy. I expect this kind of behavior out of boys at this age.

Who knew back when everyone was looking down on me for being an unwed teen mother that my son might actually grow up and graduate from high school with college aspirations? Oh and fuck every last one of you who talked shit about me or acted like my IQ went down for having a baby at 17. I still see some of you bitches around town and I hope you enjoy being fat...again fuck you.

That said, I have a new roommate. There are too many things I want to say about that but I just cant get myself worked up on that level right now. Unless I gave birth to you, purchased you or married you there wont be anyone else living with me ever again. I am not stable and I cant take it. People talking to me in the morning, suggesting shit, moving things, not paying for shit. Too much uh uh nope cant do it.

So you know there is a man lol. I haven't had much success talking about men on this thing so I wont. He is wonderful that's all Imma say, and I love his dog. They both make me very happy and keep me from going to jail. Its nice.

Other than that you know the drill. Dieting as usual (I am beginning to think that's all you do after 30) paying bills, and making observations about the world around me. We have to talk about football this season and my exit from that place of employment. We MUST talk about some of my favorite shows like DWTS and Glee as well as Hawaii 5-0 and this season's Ultimate Fighter. We need to discuss some of the garbage that's hit the airwaves since I disappeared and some of the good stuff and great concerts Ive been to this year. We also have to talk about the serious stuff too like politics, race and parenting.

But mostly, we just have to talk and not run 100 miles an hour. No more living fast and dying young lol.

They say we can't be livin' like this for the rest of our lives
Well, we gon' be livin' like this for the rest of tonight
And you know they gon' be bangin' this shit for rest of our lives
So live fast and die young, live fast and die young, live fast and die young

Run This Town

So my whirlwind vacation is coming to a close and I am sitting here typing from the freezing cold Las Vegas airport. I'm the only one remotely awake since we opted not to go to sleep the last night of the trip. Probably not the brightest idea but hey sue me. Las Vegas has been a blast, even though it got off to a semi rocky start.

In all the years I've been traveling never have I had my luggage broken, but that's just what happened in this case. My favorite piece of luggage got it's handle busted the fuck up somewhere between DC and NV. Of course I complained but honestly I was just happy and surprised that the bitch made it. My damn tags were missing and it was limping along on it's back like a flipped turtle on the carousel. Sure it hasn't made my life the least bit easy but it's minor in the grand scheme.

Speaking of uneasy, I have determined that Vegas only has two settings. Hell and winter. Everywhere you go you are either cooking or freezing. There is no happy medium. I am going to knock the wind out of the next person that calls this shit a dry heat. You know what else has a dry heat? Your oven on 450. I bet you aren't interested in posting up in that bitch neither so can it with the crap.

Not only that but there is an abundance of extra type ignorance in thus town. No not the obvious ignorance and debauchery that usually occurs in this town but the bumpkin type hayseed-esque, what's a crosswalk, walmart dresses are sexy, look paw there's Negros kind of backwoods fuckery. I'm sitting next to some ignorant bitch and her get-er-done husband right now. I just figure that you should we a little savvy when you travel and perhaps don't wear hunters orange.

Anyway, it's one of thoes trips where you spend too much money and stay out way too late and laugh about it the next day. We sorta got off to a slow start due to our arrival time. We didn't manage to do anything that evening but we more than made up for that.

Honestly this is the first time I've traveled with people who haven't gotten on my last fucking nerve. My girls are the greatest, no bullshit.

So I don't think I had ever been to a club in Vegas before this trip...and this is my 4th trip out here. The club is a really different experiance here. First, you better pick the right one. That's off the break because you could possibly spend a bunch of money in an extra wack club. The club at Tao was one of those buy a table and look pretty clubs where no one talks to each other and no one dances. Sure you are cute but WTF? My assesment of Tao? Great gift shop, awsome completely overpriced food and a tired ass club.

Then there's Prive...now maybe it's the music, or the heavily poured drinks. Shoot it could even be the layout, but that club cranks. Sure we almost had to beat the breaks off a drunken guy chasing Kenya around the club but that wasn't too bad really. There was honest to god dancing. I acted a straight up fool just like i promised. I am making a Vegas club playlist cause it was that live in there.

We had a ball and if every night could have been that night I'd never leave Vegas. Kenya seemed really surprised at our popularity with the international men. Me? Not so much. I fucks with all types of dudes on the regular, so Asian or Arab men checkin for me is not new. Yeah I know I've said I want to move there before so you aren't shocked. It's probably no where close to that much fun if you live there.

Sure I coulda used one more day of tanning. Of course I could have had a few more Patron Margaritas, no, I didn't get to wear all my new outfits and none of us won a dime on the slots but truly and dearly it was a great trip.

My only regrets so far are minimal. The to do list for the next trip looks like this.

1. Bring more money
2. More sushi, less Asian fusion
3. Don't let US Air handle all or part of your trip.
4. Don't book shit with Frontier Airlines.
5. Wear what you want, you'll still be killin the rest of those fail hoes every day.
6. Start making your intentions with fine men known early lol. I mean you Bronson.
7. Start tanning earlier than noon and being hungover is no excuse.
8. Stay a full week at least.
9. Pick the right clubs.
AND
10. If anyone asks you who's gonna run this town tonight just look at your girls and smile.

Wasted

Rockstar lifestyle might don’t make it indeed. Lemme tell ya what, I
am so over fail dudes and their delusions of grandeur. Everyone can’t
be rich and famous, and most of these guys aren’t even going to come
close. Fail ass cousin falls into this category and runs with a bunch
of other fail dudes who aspire to be more than they can ever hope to
be. FAC thinks he is a professional basketball player, however he has
no contract, no prospects and certainly no money in his pockets. Okay
that might not be true considering he is always mooching off his poor
little girlfriend.

However, this fool is short on my rent this month to the tune of $150
and he still out popping bottles and buying tables and shit. His
friend who can only be described as some sort of phony dreadlock Rasta
thinks he is going to be the next R&B sensation. I guess he hits the
studio between janitorial jobs down at the local high school. The
other little tragic boy thinks that if he memorizes all the stats for
every player in the NBA and NCAA he will be the next Jim Rome or
SportsCenter correspondent…current occupation? Camp counselor. None of
them ever have a pot to piss in and the window they could throw it out
belongs to someone else 99% of the time. Let them tell it they are on
their way to being celebrities.

FAC actually had the nerve to complain that when he was at a club he
couldn’t afford to be at, and the headlining performer took the stage,
he and his entourage were unceremoniously kicked off the stage. First,
who the fuck are you to think that you should be on stage with a real
performer. He doesn’t know you, or ya mans and them. No one cares if a
substitute teacher, a custodial engineer and a camp counselor are
getting put off the stage. In fact, no one would care if yall got put
out of the Taco Bell. You and your fail ass buddies are nobodies. End
of story.

So its countdown to Vegas for Tres Yellards aka 3xY or if you will,
them yella bitches. We touchdown in sin city on Wednesday and I don’t
think the city will be the same. I plan to act a straight up asshole
and so to 2 & 3. We are going to cram as much fun into our little trip
as possible. Party, party, party. I of course have been on this
hellish diet where I basically eat air and water and pray that my
bikini doesn’t look like a rubber band stretched over a tire. It’s not
been fun. Not to mention I have considerably cut back on drinking. I
actually went 8 days without a drop of liquor and I was doing pretty
good. Then my momma had a party and that all went to shit. Then my
buddy came over last night and we killed two bottles of red while
chomping on pizza. Uggh I gotta go to the damn gym or something cause
I don’t want to undo all the hard work I have done. I managed to
grease myself into a dress I haven’t worn since Dubya’s first term in
office two weeks ago, and I am not about to go back to wearing tents
now.

So I have my eye on this guy who isn’t new but I guess I just realized
that I like him more than I did before. Okay that’s a fat lie,
actually I have always thought he was attractive, I was just otherwise
entangled in some dumb shit with random dude. Now I am single, and I
am bored out of my mind and I think I just made him a target. I don’t
even know if he is interested, I just know I like what I see. I am
sure I will come to some sort of decision soon, but really I am not
too pressed about it. I am just going to see where it leads me.

Other than the normal bullshit, like work and life things have been
pretty cool. The searing hunger seems to be keeping my mind off of
petty bullshit and the lack of available ass. See, diets do work. I am sure I will have some sort of report upon my return, but who really
knows. I say so little here these days and what happens in Vegas is
supposed to stay there. I can dig it, and my guess is you can too.

Bad Habits

So I’ve been missing, yes I know missing in action for what I think is close to 6 months. I’ve been busy, and not the good kind. I’ve mostly been working like a fool and attempting to make it “okay” that 70 hours of my week is spent selling furniture or playing contract apprentice. It’s a lot. I rarely see my kid anymore, not that he is upset about that. He is 16 so truthfully, he isn’t checking for me all that frequently.

Dating….whooooo yeah that’s a nonexistent thing. Sure I could be dating in between jobs or driving all over the state but why give up a few precious hours of sleep just so I can be irritated and or disappointed?? I just keep waiting for something to give or someone decent to stroll into my life. Right now I am just having a hard go of it and trying to make better decisions. I’ve recently made some poor ones and some really smart ones too. I just wish they were all consistently smart. I think I am going in the correct direction though.

Last month I went to my girl Justine’s wedding out in some waterfront town. Gorgeous venue, beautiful ceremony… strange ass wedding though. I took the kid cause I didn’t want to invite the dude that I just fired. Men are always so weird about weddings and I am sure he would have been a total wet blanket. That and the guy who was the best man at my wedding now seems to have the hots for me (15 years later) and could have made the whole scene awkward. Not that it wasn’t already awkward by any means. It was fun but it was strange and though I expect a certain amount of fuckery when dealing with my girl Justine, this just went above and beyond.

First there was my kid having a hypoglycemic attack and kneeling in the grass in his $200 suit trying to get right. Then there was the best man debacle. He doesn’t drink but chose that night to do so. Oh that and he kept touching me. Very weird. There was the odd tribute to my friend that died. The couple who was married, who isn’t married, who are getting married again that showed up. Oh and the random appearance by some girl I just pretended not to know. I can’t even get into all the other hinky things but take my word for it, it was weird.

I lost weight to get into this amazing dress which looked great. I say this after going carb free for two weeks. I am finishing up some McDonald’s right now. I was starving. I will get back to my grind after this week, right now I am just hungry as a beast and I work too many hours to pretend like a salad is going to cut it. I have less than a month before I jet off to Las Vegas with Tres Yellards and I know that all of August will be filled with carb free days nights and weekends as I attempt to whittle my body into the tiniest of outfits. I plan to act a straight asshole.

It’s weird that when I finally take a second to update all I can think about is all the things I want to say but cant. I don’t expect that anyone ever reads this thing again, but I really just don’t know anymore. I feel  like spilling my guts and telling everything that plagues me from the dude I just dropped to the stress with my father to the fact that I think I am starting to have anxiety attacks again, but all those details down on paper don’t really solve shit. They don’t help me to feel any better and they don’t change a damn thing. I still feel heartbroken, I still feel irritated and I am still way too damn busy to get into any of it. All I want out of life right now is one day off from both jobs where I can throw on a pretty sundress and spend it sipping Margarita’s.

What I do want to mention is that Facebook is the devil. I know I said that about 4 years ago in regard to MySpace but let me tell you this FB stuff is much worse. It all seemed like good clean fun at first. See a few folks updates that you haven’t seen since 93. Catch up with people you were buddies with back in the day and such, but then it took a very dire turn. See I realized that the recently fired dude is on FB and his page is unlocked and well you know my penchant for googling folks, so of course I checked out his page. That turned into a tool to match his whereabouts with his lame ass excuses. On the real, FB is what got him canned. If you stand me up and you don’t call me all the next day to qualify your egregious error, and I check your page and all day you’ve been playing Mafia Wars……I know you aren’t dead or in jail. Since those are the only two excuses I accept for a no call no show, then you are instantly fired. Benefits cancelled, no COBRA.

The next incident was when I realized my sorry ex-husband was on FB. I didn’t care at first, but when he started trying to friend everyone I associate with, I started wondering about his motives. Friday he tried to friend E-Money and I know they never had one solitary conversation ever in life. Why so pressed to get in with my people? So I went against my original assertion that I would not post anything remotely personal or retaliatory for a status. I just went on him full tirade style completed by pointing out that friending him was a bitch move.

Then came the blast from the past dude (who I affectionately refer to as Rebel Without a Clue) who showed up chatty as a MF. He perhaps fails harder at life than the guy I just fired and I didn’t even think that was possible. Of course due to his penchant for Evan Williams and his extensive multi-state criminal record he is really into me. You know the jailbirds love me.

Finally, on Friday I had the unadulterated Gaul to look at the new folks who have joined from my class and low and behold there is the one dude I probably have been searching for since 10th grade. Long story very short he was my first boyfriend back in 7th grade. There were make ups and break ups but we never could get it together and trust we never will. I immediately added him as a friend and scanned his page being nosey as hell. Well I learned a few things.

First he is engaged, second he is absolutely gorgeous. We are talking full on amazing looking and now I am hating. Damn it why did I do that??? I feel like I was better off not knowing what happened to him. I am hating so much that I actually changed my profile picture!  I am completely consumed with him and his new fiancée….well fuck. Hate in my heart blood in my eyes I haven’t seen this dude since 96 and I have the nerve to hate on his situation and mostly cause I want him for myself.

We chatted a bit over messaging, and he seems super happy. HEY!! I know what you’re thinking was nice, I congratulated him on his new life and fiancé and family and wish all good things to come his way. See, I can be nice even if I am hating and consumed with jealousy. That’s what we call personal growth. So for the last three days I’ve been drowning my hate/sorrow/jealousy in Color Me Badd songs and sitting around reminiscing like an asshole. What is my major issue??? I wish them the best…I am still hating. So in conclusion Facebook is the devil and I need to spend less time on there and more time doing something productive.