Sunday, October 31, 2010
Thank you so much for being with me through this and Happy Halloween!
Saturday, October 30, 2010
I get a chuckle at some of the people who request my friendship connection of Facebook.
Some of them, mostly women, I have not one positive memory of any interaction with them.
Either they were too good to talk or hang out with the poor girl who didn't ever have anything name brand (except for that one pair of Lee jeans).
I remember being teased for wearing highwaters. The dumbass didn't even call them right. She called them hee haws. I still knew what she meant.
I remember two girls that used to sit behind me at choir practice. They would pull my hair and call me horse hair. I think it's funny that they're both avid weave wearers now.
A couple others who when they addressed me, would always precede it with fat. Fat this, fat that, she's so fat that...
All have sent invites. A couple of them I accepted, just to see what these loser chicks grew up to be.
Very basically, with the exception of two, I have noticed were grandmothers before 40.
One has found the Lord. One has made a lifestyle of working for fast food places. I thought it interesting that at one time she worked at Burger King, a daughter was at Hardee's (Carl Jr's) and another daughter was at McDonald's.
Of course these women have skewered reflections of who we were to each other. They sound like we were always best friends. I haven't compelled to say anything to them about the past or what I make of the present. It's not important to me.
Some time between the times they made fun of me and now, I developed an "I don't care" attitude and I really don't.
That's big for me. I used to carry it all around with me and it would come out at the most inopportune times.
I don't know. I guess it does bother me at times, but not because of what they said. It bothers me because of how I let it affect me.
I wonder if any of them will read this and recognize herself?
Anywho. I'm on vacation and this is all you get today. Sorry.
Friday, October 29, 2010
I was thumbing through an old photo album not too long ago and I came across some pictures that reminded me that if I should thank the Lord every day for no other reason, it should be for allowing me to walk away from this van...yes an ASTRO VAN!
I remember a few years ago someone in my Sunday School class said that Jesus didn't
perform miracles in modern days, only in the days of the bible. Let me tell you what I told him.......
It was a cold November Sunday morning in 1995, and I'd decided to ride with my mother to her newly appointed church in Godfrey, IL. We were having dinner after church so we had a crock pot, some pyrex dishes and a few canned items in the
I'd decided we had gotten up waaaay too early, so I looked at my son in the back seat and he looked uncomfortable, so I took him out of his seat belt and let him lay on the seat. I don't know why he wasn't in a car seat, maybe they weren't enforcing them back then. Anyway, I remember seeing snow starting to blow across the highway (we were traveling I-55 South) and we were coming up on Litchfield, which meant I
had enough time to catch a cat nap.
The last thing I saw before I reclined my seat was another Springfield pastor
whose church was in nearby Alton, go flying past. I remember thinking that his tires couldn't even be really touching the ground.
I lay my seat back and closed my eyes and almost immediately I heard my mom say “Oh Lord!” The next thing I remember was thinking “We’re rolling. When will it stop?”
It seemed like we rolled 4 or 5 times. I don’t really know how many, but I know that when we stopped I was upside down.
I mean as soon as I opened my eyes, there was a woman poking her head in the window saying “I’m a nurse, can I take your vitals?” “Is anyone hurt?” Then it hit me
that my son was in the van somewhere and I didn’t hear him. So I started screaming his name and his little head popped down from under me, which was now on top of me.
I pulled him down and the woman took him out the window and wrapped him in a blanket as she checked him out.
I called my mom, I don’t remember why I couldn’t see her because she was next to me, but she didn’t say anything and I started freaking out. To this day I don’t know how I got out of the van, but the next thing I remember is sitting in a man’s car with my son while the fire department used the “Jaws of Life” to cut my mom out of
When the ambulances got on the scene, they put me on a stretcher and put my son and I in one and took us to the hospital. I’d always heard Litchfield referred to and
Lynchville, so I wasn’t comfortable at all going to their hospital. I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I was examined, x-rayed, poked and prodded for hours. I didn’t know where my son was and a state trooper was kind enough to come and let me know that my mother had been
extracted from the van and also being examined. Then he handed me a can of peaches. Yes, peaches! He’d found it in the grass near the accident and at that time he told
me something I’ll never forget. Be mindful of the things you carry in your car because in an accident, something as innocent as a can of peaches can become a weapon.
I kept telling the people examining me that my vision was blurry in my right eye. They checked it, gave me eye drops and checked again and it still didn’t clear up. They concentrated on picking shards of glass out of my leg. My leg was crossed when I laid back. When they finished, I was asked how I felt. I told them I felt ok, but that my vision was still blurry.
They dilated my right eye and put some special fluorescent drops in it and turned out the lights. They shined some special light on it and discovered a shard of glass right in my iris. I don’t remember what happened next, I just know they removed it.
By this time a nurse brought my son in to see me. Lo and behold, in this so-called all white prejudiced town, here comes my son on the hip of a black nurse and bragging about all the jello and green beans he’d eaten.
The nurse assured me that they’d found nothing wrong with him in his exam and that he was entertaining the nurse’s station. (What a surprise.)
About that time my dad and uncle came in to my room and said they’d been to the place where the car was towed and got all the information my mom would need for the insurance.
They’d gotten our purses out and took pictures for insurance purposes (my uncle was a former state trooper and knew all these things would be needed).
We waited and waited and when it was over and done with, my mom had several stitches, a bunch of cuts and a funky new set of bangs.
Turns out that when I was calling her, she was passed out. When she came to, we were already out of the van. Skeptic about seatbelts? If she hadn’t had her seatbelt on, she’d have likely been under the van because her fingertips were pinned under and so was the front of her hair, hence the new hairstyle.
It also turns out that my son NOT being in a belt is probably what saved him (well I know it was the LORD who saved him) but logistically, he fell under my reclined seat
and when we were rolling, he was safely kept between the seat and the floor.
Turns out when we finally stopped, we were upside down on a median just yards away from the northbound traffic.
We were given some real good painkillers and released.
Anyone who’s been in an accident knows that when you wake up the next day, you don’t recognize yourself. You are one big walking bruise. By the way, when you buy a used vehicle, make sure the air bags work. These didn’t, so when we flipped it was the seatbelts that held us in place and every place the belt touched was a bruise. We looked like Big Sal had taken us out back to rough us up. Mom had 2 black eyes,
just looked beat down (shaking my head).
All this to say, that even when I wasn’t actively seeking the Lord, He had his angels of mercy all around me.
FYI-angels are NOT the cutesy lil naked babies or beautiful golden hair, white winged beings society says they are. Read any story in the bible about angels speaking or showing themselves to someone, they always say "Do Not Fear" or
"Don’t Be Afraid". Don't believe in angels? That’s a whole ‘nother blog post.
Just wanted to share how I’ve been blessed.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
It is still largely a secret to most, exactly what all I've experienced in the way of relationships. Some of it pretty, a lot of it not.
One thing I pride myself on, is not being the bitter sista who takes it out on every other man she crosses.
I know women who have dogged their sons out, just because they reminded them of their Daddy. That's BS.
If your Daddy did something to you, don't take it out on your date. If your babydaddy did something, don't take it out on your son. If your brother did something, don't take it out on your neighbor.
Let that shit lie right where it was created. In that person. Taking it out on everyone else just makes you a bitter, miserable woman that no one wants to deal with.
Another thing, own up to your place in things. It isn't often that a bad situation is created by one person alone. If you've participated in no other way other than settling, share the blame.
I know this sista who could find blame in the brothas anywhere. I mean just dog em any and every chance she got.
I bet she could find a way to (illogically) blame brothas for a blue sky. Well I got reeeeal tired of it one day.
We were at church and she was on a rant, blaming everything on the black (I'm not typing african american 50-11 times) man, when I stopped her mid-sentence.
*sidebar* See, the older I get, the worse I get with this thing of saying exactly what I'm thinking. I can't even control it sometimes. I'll think something and only until the person I'm facing, registers shock, do I realize that I've said it out loud. I've told folks to shut it. To stop lying. Stuff like that.
Anyway in mid rant, I told her that if I were any of the men of the church (who she'd call on for help, quite often), I wouldn't even speak to her and in fact, I'd be offended, so she either needed to apologize and shut up or stop asking them for help. Of course an argument ensued.
Yes, I argued at church. I might have even cussed. You know what else I did though? I shut her up. Yeah. She got to blaming black men for the shortage of married black women and was going on and on with some mess. Mid-sentence, I reminded her that since I'd known her, she'd only dated one african american man. Her history was primarily with Nigerian men, a totally different culture. She needed to recognize that her problem was in the type of man she was choosing. She needed to step back, shut up and re-evaluate the things she said and did.
Recognize that if you keep having the same type of relationships, that you're doing the same kinds of things and if you want different, YOU make a change.
Now that I think about it, I haven't heard her dog the brothas out for a long time.
Heffa's still bitter though.
*steps down, stomps foot, yells "Sexual Chocolate", drops the mic and walks off*
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
I am finally ready to tackle the most hurtful of my relationships. It started one night with the son of a flirty neighbor, some alcohol and a poor excuse of a Halloween costume.
Anyway, I caught the attention of my neighbor’s son who was going to a club with his then wife (I didn’t know it and neither of them said anything). He must have talked to me for at least 30 minutes with her standing right there (I guess the epitome of trust was there).
Anyway, a few weeks later he came to my house and we sat up talking until about 2 in the morning and he ended up sleeping on my couch.
We would talk for awhile every day and I got sucked in by his charisma. One day he came over to the house clearly upset and crying because his little brother had gotten killed during a drug deal gone bad. I listened to him, let him cry ended up attending the funeral with him.
We got pretty close in the couple of months after that and he’d spent the night a few times, so when I moved, it was no big deal that it happened more frequently. After a few more months I told him he might as well just move in, so he did. He’d gained my complete trust.
Everything was cool the first 6 months, no arguing, he was working, contributing half his check to the household expenses, real cool…Then I found out he was still married….His ex called and wanted him to keep the kids over the weekend. They got into it and she called me back a little later and informed me that he wasn’t divorced, simply separated. That should have made me run then, but I didn’t. Didn’t see it as a problem, he was where he wanted to be, right?
Anyway, long story short, in the next few months his true colors came out only I was already sucked in by him and didn’t see what was right before me. He was an insecure, lying, cheating, abusive, alcoholic.
Nearly a year passed and I was invited to Chi-town for a new year’s party with some friends from college and I invited him too. He didn’t want to go and when I got there my guy friends who are more like brothers to me and my special friend, the only one from school that I had somewhat of a relationship with, treated me so much better than I’d been treated at home that I didn’t want to go back.
I came back home and the following weekend caught him in a few lies and found proof or I should say I heard proof that he was cheating **Note** Fellas, READ the directions when you get your cell phones so your girl doesn’t have to set up your voicemail….DUH!
I told him he had 2 weeks to get out. Well those 2 weeks became two weeks from hell and in the meantime, online I’d met the sweetest person who constantly told me I deserved better, not necessarily him, but better.
G.G. turned into one of the most evil demons on earth. He’d threaten me, dog me out verbally, play mental games (actually he’d done that all along, but it was starting to become clear that’s what he’d been doing). I realized that I was scared to death of him and when he became physically and sexually abusive (no better way to show your love to your girl than raping her in the comfort of your home) I put him out period. That’s when he told me he’d put boric acid in one of my drinks hoping to make me miscarry just in case I was pregnant. I told him he had until the end of the day to get someone to come get his stuff or it would be in the yard. Ain’t pride something else? I really didn’t want my neighbors or anyone else to know…
A few weeks later, he called me at around 11 pm and said he’d gotten a ride from a club and wanted to talk to me. I told him I was sleep and didn’t want to talk. He said he’d gotten dropped off at my house and he was calling from the porch and it was raining. I told him he’d better get off the phone and call back the person who’d dropped him off. I hung up on him and took the phone off the hook.
I woke up and this negro was standing over me watching me sleep! I have no idea how he got in the house to this day. Nothing was broken into and everything was locked up. All I could think of was whether this idiot had done something to my kids in the next room. I had 9-1-1 on speed dial, but I’d had the phone off the hook, so there was no dial tone. I can honestly say I didn’t think I’d make it through the night. To make things worse, the guy I’d been talking to as friends, had a picture I really liked and I’d printed it out and it was on my headboard. That didn’t sit real well either.
I eventually talked him into leaving by telling him I’d hit the speed dial and the police were coming and he left. I called 9-1-1 as I checked on my kids. They were fine and I called my friend and got hysterical when it really hit me how things could have ended. He stayed on the phone with me until the police arrived.
They sent several cars out looking for him and they couldn’t find him. I ended up getting an order of protection from him and got rid of everything in the house that reminded me of him. I had no bed, no table, no living room furniture, nothing. I’d rather start over again.
He had to be watching me for awhile because he’d "coincidentally" be at the store the same time I was there and little things like that, but he eventually left me alone. I found out later that my father had seen him at a bus stop and snuck up on him and very quietly whispered a few words to him. A few years went by and I didn’t hear from him.
Unfortunately, at the time, I had a very easy to remember work number and it “popped” into his head one day and he decided to invite me and the kids out to dinner because he missed us. Yeah, right.
I let him speak his piece because I figured that if I didn’t, it was possible that he might show up and I definitely didn’t want that. He wanted me to think about getting back together. Sure, hold your breathe and I’ll be right there.
I said all that to say this, God protects children and fools. Know He’s got your back when you don’t even have your own…..He gave me a wonderful and caring friend who I love very much, in the process and has given me the realization that some of the things I go through and think are monumental are nothing at all compared to what He’s brought me through.
Monday, October 25, 2010
You can pretend everything is all good, but eventually the issues you never dealt with will resurface and often ruin things.
Yeah, I know I said letting go…I’m going to get there.
He/She still has my pictures
He/She still owes me money
He/She still has my….
Sometimes all it takes is saying or hearing those two words out loud
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
I didn't. I don't make it a habit to watch Oprah. I wish I had that day though, just to hear his story.
I've heard several people who are not TP fans, say that they have some clarity now about why women are portrayed the way they are in his movies.
From what I understand, he was molested by both men and women (or a woman) at a young age.
You may or may not be surprised to hear how many men that has happened to.
I have many male friends and the majority of them feel very comfortable sharing things with me and I will say that at least 97% of who I've discussed this with, were sexually abused by a babysitter or neighbor.
Only they didn't call it that. They called it their first piece or losing their virginity. As a mother of two sons, I call it rape and if I'd ever found that it had happened to mine, well, Nancy Grace would be talking about the angry mother who...well, who knows what I would do? I know it wouldn't be pretty.
I remember I used to get mad because I could rarely spend the night at any of my friend's houses. Shoot, for all that, I could rarely go ANYWHERE.
I remember asking if I could go to the skating rink either my Jr. or Sr. year and my mom said yes, I could go, but my curfew was at 10. Man, skating started at like 8. I just didn't go. There was no point. I'm convinced though that if I'd had that kind of freedom, I'd be a grandmother now, like many of my friends.
Anyway, back to the point. I rarely went anywhere that my children couldn't go and as a result of that, my kids often had issues feeling comfortable with other children. I knew where they were though.
Now that I think about it, other than my family and day care, the only two babysitters they ever had was my younger cousin and one of my sister's best friends and I didn't leave my kids with anyone (except day care) until they could talk and tell me when something was wrong.
My son and his best friend have been best friends since 1st grade. It's just been in the last 3-4 years that he's been allowed to sleep over and he's 13. He sleeps over so much now, that my place is his 2nd home, LOL.
Nothing against his friend's parents, but I had to get to a place where I was comfortable with them and comfortable about him going there. We got to really know each other when the boys played basketball. That's when I learned just how alike our parenting styles were.
My oldest never really had friends like that, so he stuck with me. Only in the last year has he really started staying overnight at a friend's house. He's 18.
Maybe I made them miss out on some things. I don't really care. My concern was more for their safety and I still think I made good choices.
I tell you what, I always remember saying that when I grew up, I wasn't going to be anything like my mother. Well, I am a lot different, but I'm glad she instilled some things in me.
I wrote the poem below, a few months ago. It was heavy on my heart that day.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
It was one year ago today that I had lap band surgery.
As I remember it, by this point of the day, I was in recovery.
Now I'm no stranger to surgeries, but for whatever reason, I was scared to death going in for this one. I've had my gallbladder removed, tubes tied, another female surgery, biopsies, vascular surgery for dialysis and I've had a catheter in my jugular vein, so I'm thinking that my anxiety was with the fact that after trying all my adult life, I was finally doing something to rid myself of the fat that I thought I was destined to carry.
I was never really fat growing up, the extra skinny girls just made me think I was. I was always fat cow, fat bitch, fatty, whatever. Looking back at high school pictures, I was BUILT. Which would explain the attention I'd get from older guys.
I'd already bought into the persona that I was a fat girl, so soon, I was a fat girl.
Actually first I was a chunky girl. I could still buy clothes at any store. Then after college, I was a fat girl. Exchanging clothes with my other size 20-22 friends, so it wasn't a big deal. I just looked like some of my peers, right?
Then I came home and got a job and lived.
Three years later, I had a baby, grew another dress size. Five years later, had another baby and grew another dress size.
Six months later, his father died and I stopped eating. I went down 2 dress sizes in almost a month.
A couple of years after that, I entered into what would be the most abusive relationship of my life. Without too many details, it was mostly emotional, but it did get to a point where it got physical.
At any rate, this is where the downward spiral of eating for comfort began. We'd argue, make up and eat. We'd get up in the middle of the night to play dominoes and fix hamburgers and fries and then go back to sleep. Or eggs and bacon. I started putting weight on at an alarming rate and when I finally got to a point that I knew I had to do something, I was weighing 353. More than any NBA player I'd seen and most of the NFL players.
As it happened, my boss decided that we, as an office, could use a little weight loss motivation and proposed that we have our own Biggest Loser. It ran from late October to Christmas and we weighed in each week.
I was working out regularly. I was doing Weight Watchers and if I cheated and went to McDonald's, I'd only order off the kid's menu.
I ended up winning, with a total loss of 23 lbs.
After the contest, I hit a plateau. After awhile, I stopped trying. I did manage to maintain that weight though.
I'd begun preparing to start dialysis, I was depressed, I was scared and I ate.
Fast forward to last year, my son graduated from an alternative military school and I don't know who had the camera, but I always felt safe behind the camera because I knew I wouldn't have to see any pics of myself if I didn't want them (says the camera whore) the majority of my pictures though are head shots.
Well someone caught me off guard and when I got the pictures developed and saw the pic below, I knew I had to do something. FAST. I was disgusted by what I saw and still am.
Don't get me wrong, I was still a commodity because I have a cute face *eyeroll*, but I was NOT healthy in the least.
Half my ass fit on the chair. HALF.
This was in June. In July I had my first consultation. The surgeon was excited because I was her first kidney patient and this surgery for me, would mean that I could not only get to a healthy weight in general, but get down to the accepted weight for the transplant surgery. Because I have to have a certain amount of protein for dialysis, we opted for the lapband, not the gastric bypass. Had I had gastric, I'd have probably lost about 140 lbs by now, but healthwise, I'd be in pretty bad shape because there just would'nt be enough room for my food and meds.
A couple of months prior to surgery, I decided to go natural with my hair and stop using relaxers. I figured if there were going to be major changes, I would do it 100%. My beautiful hair, something that took away from the attention of the weight, I got chopped.
It was SO liberating!
Anyway fast forward to today. I weigh in at 260 and I'm not shamed to say it because I feel good! I'm not where I want to be (between 170 and 190), but thank God, I'm not where I was!!
I had someone take some pictures of me last night, wearing the same shirt I wore to the graduation party. It still fits, but I've got LOTS of room.
These days I wear either an XL or 1X top (if I want some wiggle room) from 3x-4x back then. And my jeans back then were 34 womens, today I'm in 26 womens. I wore 24w just before I had my last child, so this is monumental for me.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Military . a vacation or leave of absence granted to an enlisted person.
a usually temporary layoff from work: Many plant workers have been forced to go on furlough.
a temporary leave of absence authorized for a prisoner from a penitentiary.
–verb (used with object)
to grant a furlough to.
to lay (an employee or worker) off from work, usually temporarily.
Monday, October 18, 2010
When people die, they have passed away, not past! When someone dies, you are sorry for their loss, not lost! The gotdang game is bid whist, not bid wizz or bid wiss. ARRRGHH! It really doesn't hurt to sometimes look things up!
Ok, LOL. Now, today I want to talk about smells and how a smell can take you back to another time.
I walked out of my office this morning and for whatever reason, downtown smelled like scrambled eggs with Bacos in them. THAT took me right back to Union Baptist Day Care. The year had to be 1971-72. We often had that, toast and grits for breakfast.
I don't know about other day care centers, but thinking back, Union really served some good food.
Other smells that remind me of daycare is split pea and ham soup and salmon patties and peas.
I used to have the best time. I remember my mom would take me down the street to Mrs. Shoultz's in the morning and I'd ride to day care with her. While I waited, I'd watch Tony and Michelle leave for school. It seemed like they were already grown, but they couldn't have been.
I remember after getting to day care, watching Romper Room and Captain Kangaroo, Sesame Street and Electric Company on this huge floor model television.
We used to go across the street to their playground (it's a parking lot now). My earliest friends and still friends now, are Bruce, Gwen, Terrence, Tina and Teah, all siblings. Two sets of friends with the same last name, but I don't think any relation, Karen, Kelly and Kendra and then Vette, Ed and Devon.
I remember nap time was on these little green cots and that Devon always cried because he didn't want to take a nap and Ed would run around sticking people with safety pins (I remind his ol 6'8 self of that often).
I remember taking a field trip to a farm once. We rode a school bus and the bus driver was playing Kool and the Gang's Jungle Boogie. I was fascinated by the milk machine. I also remember that we were let loose in a field, I guess to get rid of extra energy before getting back on the bus and the twins found a big rock, which ended up being a cow pie.
The pastor of Union, Rev. Shoultz, would have all of us day care children calling him Daddy, which was cool, until we saw him someplace else with our real Mama and/or Daddy.
I almost forgot, back then I'd eat tomato soup and grilled cheese too. I don't even know who was cooking back then, but Union has always been a part of my life and holds good memories.
Very happy memories. I only hope my kids have happy memories like this to look back on...
All this, because I thought I smelled scrambled eggs and bacon bits.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
I was chilling with a friend, not too long ago, at her house. We were just talking about money, kids, life...
We hadn't talked for a long time and I was really enjoying myself, until....
Her husband came through the kitchen (we were at the kitchen table) and he hocked up from the tip of his toenails and spit in the kitchen sink.
My friend was unfazed (I know the word is phase, I like the "z"). I was floored.
At that moment, I was happy I hadn't ever eaten over there.
I'm sorry, bathroom sink, yeah. Kitchen sink? Hell no! You wash dishes in the sink. I was outdone.
I can talk about shit all day long. I can watch lions eat wildebeasts and zebras during dinner. I can watch live childbirth and not be fazed.
You want to make me lurch? Let me see spit on the sidewalk or a booger on the wall. I think spitting is one of the nastiest things known to man. I'd rather help stop a severed arm from bleeding.
I'm not sure why it affects me that way, but it does.
My kids will tell you. If they spit on the grass, cool. There's no good reason why someone should spit on the sidewalk where people walk or in the parking lot where there is a lot of foot traffic.
One of the kids once saw one of their friends spit in the trash can and decided to come home and do it. Well, when I went to retrieve something I accidentally tossed, guess what it had landed it?
"Beyoooooooootchwhodafuggspitinthetrashnastymofo!!!" No one owned up to that for months...
Funny thing is, my sister is the exact same way. Her and my brother were a year apart in high school and we lived about a block and a half away from the school (this is before Dad let them drive to school- Yeah, I said drive O_O).
My brother would do nasty stuff to make her throw up. Pretend to find candy on the ground and eat it and whatnot.
One day he discovered that he could string spit almost all the way to the ground and suck it back up and my sister would throw up instantly. I don't know how many times he got away with that one before my mom made him stop.
Well then he would do what we call "gleek" in her direction. Somehow he'd finagle his tongue to spray, like when you bite into corn on the cob.
Once during an argument, I saw a guy hock and spit in his girlfriend's face. I was floored. She didn't even look shocked. It obviously had happened before.
Tell you what...the person that spits in my face, best not go to sleep any time thereafter, in my presence. Not sure what I'd do, but there's an uncontrollable rage that would come.
Miss me with all that.
Saturday, October 16, 2010
I love the men in my life.
My father, my brothers, my sons...
My Daddy, my best male friends, my cyber-brothers. I love you all. I've chosen to let you inside a layer the others aren't allowed to cross.
I have noticed something, however, about nearly all of you.
You have complained at one time or another about how emotional women are, but you fail to see that men are also emotional creatures, you just don't show it as much.
I understand. It's that pride thing. I have it. Read my previous post. I get it.
Guess what? Just because you don't show it, doesn't me I (and others) don't know you feel it and if you were not meant to feel it, God would have left all that out of you. Stop trying to fight it. The majority of you don't fight it as well as you think anyway.
You get hyper when you worry.
You snap when you're scared.
You get angry when you love someone so much and you don't want them to know it.
And because you also have low esteem days, you secretly like that hoes throw themselves at you, though you pretend not to notice.
Because you work so hard at covering your emotions and making them look different than you feel, is the reason so many of you have heart attacks later in life (well that and your diet).
Real women recognize that showing the emotion for what you feel isn't a sign of weakness, it's a sign of humanity and a sign of being strong enough to not give a fuck what anyone thinks. *note: there's a difference in being emotional and being overemotional and the latter is not pretty in anyone*
If you worry about someone, tell them. Maybe it will make them change the very thing you're worrying about.
Same thing if you're afraid (well unless it's an ant or something you're afraid of, LOL). Seriously, I get that you might be afraid of commitment or parenting or something like that. That's healthy. Especially if you aren't familiar with it and don't know exactly how to handle it. Guess what? WE ALL LEARN BY EXPERIENCE.
I get loving someone so much and being afraid they'll hurt you. That's a time that you should hold back, but don't hold back so much that you don't show any emotion. You fuck with the other person's emotions then...find a happy medium, damn.
That last one? Especially if you are in a relationship? Don't pretend that you don't know someone's throwing ass your way. Especially if they're blatent about it. Sure, it feeds your ego, but the woman in your life ain't hardly going for it and she sees it for exactly what it is and it's insulting to her to pretend you don't. It's going to create problems sooner or later. Handle that.
Women are also flattered to find that they could still pull a guy if they wanted to, but to disrespect the relationship by accepting flat out or sometimes cryptic "ass offers" is a no go.
The last thing I have on my mind and I'm not real sure how to tie it in, but I'm going to say it anyway...
Male or female, if you find yourself constantly moving from person to person, you need to stop for a minute. Sit down and have a deep conversation with yourself. What is it that you're looking for? What aren't you finding? Yeah, it's fun to fuck person after person after person, but fucking is a surface thing that many use to cover something up that's missing. You won't find happiness in fucking. You might be happy while you're doing it, but eventually you'll crash (maybe burn). <---a lil humor there.
I am floored at the convos I see every day. Sometimes it seems like sex is the only thing some people think about. If it is, there's a problem. An addiction. Something.
*The above are all MY personal observations and opinions*
That poster? Those are the same emotions a lot of men show. I'm just sayin...
First of all, I'm so upset that there will be no post on my blog dated October 15, 2010. I got taken out by a shower. I had this post mapped out in my brain and as a result of them taking a tad too much fluid off me at dialysis yesterday morning, I started getting leg cramps last night.
I used to be able to take quinine for them, but they aren't allowed to prescribe it in the U.S. anymore, unless you have malaria. So for me, a hot shower is the only thing that will relax my muscles.
Yesterday was a monumental day for me. It was the first time in MONTHS that I had a full paycheck.
2010 has been hard for me financially. I've never been real disciplined at paying my bills on time, it's a lesson I'm learning at my late age. (BTW it floors me that my sister got this lesson growing up, but I didn't. What's that about?) This was the year though that my son turned 18 and I chose to release his biological from financial support because I just don't want to deal with him in any capacity anymore. He's never chosen to be a part of his life (though his much of his family has)and good riddance.
I didn't forsee my employer forcing us to take furlough days. What is a furlough day? It's a day that they force you to take off work, without pay, so they can save money. It balanced out to roughly about $150 a paycheck. OUCH, right?
Well it also happens that I have a shitload of medical bills that I can't keep up with, though I have insurance (did you know it costs roughly $35,000 per dialysis treatment and most patients dialyze 3 times a week? For me, each of those treatments comes with a $50 co-pay) and right around the time I was hit with furloughs, I was also garnished for those medical bills.
So we're talking between the three, a loss of about $1160 a month on a single mom and things got tighter than a small t-shirt on Wendy Williams.
Oh, did I mention that the week before all this hit, my transmission went out and I had to take a loan out just for the $1700 repair?
Well, ya'll couldn't tell, because that's what I do, but I hit rock fucking bottom this past week.
I finally had to make the mama sacrifices that I thought I'd never have to make. I put my kidney diet aside and ate a lot of oatmeal, so my kids could eat meat. I skipped lunch, so there would be something for dinner. I ate one hamburger and used one piece of bread, so there would be enough to last til Thursday night.
I dug through my dresser drawers for loose change, so I could put $5.50 in my gas tank.
I stole a roll of toilet paper from work, so we had enough to last til payday.
I lived for one week, how people lived through The Great Depression, except it's the year 2010 and I have a "good gubment job".
I was in hallelujah mode all day, but I realized that if I'm going through this with a "good gubment job", there are people out there who don't even have a chance.
These are the kinds of things we need to think about when we go to the polls. Voting is the single free thing that we can do to make a difference. We need more than Obama being president, to turn this economy around.
One thing for sure, we need to learn how to pray again, because that right there is the ONLY way many of us are going to survive.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Merry Melodies are very racist too and I didn't realize how much, until today.
Because they have a lot of singing and dancing, I'd turn the volume down and let the cartoons dance to some modern music and then marvel at how oddly they stay on beat.
As I browsed, I came across a cartoon with an odd name, so I clicked it. I couldn't believe the straight and continuous racism. It saddened me to tears when I realized that it was very similar to the mess that was going on (and publicized) when Obama first got into office.
I noticed how they portrayed ALL black men and boys. How they portrayed ALL FAT black women and how they portrayed the sexy singing women. They even cheapened their "better" portrayal by making their skirts see through.
I'm glad their doing better, but I'm sad that this kind of thinking is not yet in the past.
I'm posting the cartoon because I'm interested in your thoughts. I would love some of you who silently read, to give me your thoughts on this, especially from different cultures.
WARNING: This cartoon contains extreme racial stereotyping. Shown here for historical and educational purposes and to promote discussion.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Apparently 3 of the new regulars never leave their mother, despite the fact the oldest is 4. When she drops them off, at least 2 of them go into crying fits.
The oldest usually has a screaming fit and I just look at him and ask if he's through. He usually screams NO! Then I take him to the bathroom and stand in the doorway and tell him to get it out of his system because I'm not listening to that mess all night.
He screams for about 5 minutes and when I still just stand there and look at him, he'll say he's done and he'll be cool for about an hour.
Well, tonight the other worker put him in time out because he swung on her and he sat down, then stood back up and threw a chair.
I stood up and said, "Have you lost your fuckin' mind?" I proceed to take off my belt and tear them legs up, slam his ass in the chair and dare him to open his mouth again
Ok, well, that was the scenario in my head. Realistically, I checked on the little boy whose hand the chair nipped and seeing he was fine, I concentrated on the child throwing the fit.
I picked him up and isolated him from the others and called the building supervisor. Had him sit with the child while the other worker tended to the other 18 kids and went and found his mother.
When I walked up to her (remember, she has 3) she said "What did ___________ do?" Wow, she knew exactly which child it was.
I told her what happened and that he had to go and probably wouldn't be allowed back in the nursery.
We get back up there, this fool-child done stood up to my 6'4 cousin who I KNOW had the same scenario in his head (Hey, we ARE family!)and screamed NO to his kneecaps.
Do you think she made him apologize? Hell no!
Do you think she apologized for his behavior? Hell no!
Did she even check on the little boy he hit? Hell no!
She picked up her kids and dipped.
I was stuck with paperwork. I completed it and really thought about it.
If that boy is 4 and is standing up to 6'4, he is a hoodlum in the making. He doesn't have a chance.
Why don't people realize they're doing a disservice by not correcting their kids. Providing some kind of discipline?
I started off a spanker when my kids were young, but I had different kind of kids.
My oldest had ADHD and it wasn't really fair to spank him for something he couldn't control, but that negro was strong because if he clowned at school, he walked a mile. If he wanted to hit? He did the dying cockroach (on the floor, hands up and feet up til I said down).
He wanted to talk back? Back against the wall and slide down 1-2 inches and stay until you stop talking back. One time his ass just haaaad to keep having the last word and he was up there for like 15 minutes. Pissed me off. Just shut the hell up! I kinda felt bad for him, because he had cramps in his thighs at bed time. I am not going to be controlled by a kid. I'm not going to use the fact that I'm an adult, to bully you and I will give you a chance to have your say, but dammit, you're GOING to respect me and I'm definitely respecting you.
My youngest. Maaaan...When I did spank, I wasn't chasing. You either touch your toes or lay across the bed, got 1-3 swats (never more) and that was it. I don't know what this little dude did this particular time, but he was laying across the bed. I'd swatted twice and he looked over his shoulder and said "Are you done yet?" In my head I said "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!?!!?" Man, I couldn't do anything but walk away.
I stopped spanking, but didn't stop disciplining. You have to have rules. Kids who grow up with no rules and no fear of consequences make for (dare I say) terrorists. Not necessarily in another country or anything, but that's what I call people who have no respect for life, no respect for anything. They're no good to anyone, including themselves.
Now this little boy and his brothers? I was really trying to work with, but now I can't...Hopefully someone, somewhere will care enough to try and give these children some kind of guidance in their lives or there are years of frustration and no sense of belonging to come.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
I flat ironed my hair after being natural for a year. I have one section that has stayed straight after 4 washes. WTF?
I love my kids, but sometimes I sure don't like em!
I've lost 67 lbs. since 10/20/09. I love my lapband surgeon, she's SO supportive!
I love my regular Dr. too. We grew up together.
I'm almost over whatever I had.
I'm getting off now, so I can do a sinus rinse before dialysis.
*in my Russell Simmons voice* Good night and God bless.
Monday, October 11, 2010
These late night posts don't seem to have a whole lot of substance. I think this will be my last one. My mind needs to be fresh.
I was lying in bed earlier and thinking of some of the names my friends and I frequently use, that I'm almost positive they made up. If they didn't, they perfected the use of them.
Reminds me of my Dad.
I know ThugRockStar is the King of Buttery Motherfuckers (you know that's pronounced Mufukkas, right? LOL) and Moon Crickets.
AlwaysSilky has perfected the use of heaux and hoodboogerishness and a few others I can't think of right this second.
A good friend of mine will call someone a buffarilla in a heartbeat and she's usually talking about someone who looks EXACTLY how that sounds.
My Dad, often called Pretty Ricky, he'll change your whole damn name. He always reminded me of Bill Cosby growing up, except he'll cuss you out.
When you've fucked up and he's about to step in your ass, he say "Hey cousin...Cousin Peaches, do I look like I want to heat/cool the outside? Close the damn door."
Or if he's getting in your ass and your response is too low? "Whispering Smith, would you care to speak up so the rest of the world can join the conversation?"
My youngest brother used to dance all the time and my Dad would either call him "Huckabuck" or "Dancing Harry".
If he really got pissed though, he wouldn't bother naming you. He'd just threaten to kick the cowboy shit out of you. Whatever that is...
Sunday, October 10, 2010
I'm still under the weather.
Me and my Sister's Bears won! My Daddy's Skins won!
Today really consisted of Hallmark Channel, two sinus rinses, watching a couple of gator hunting families on the History channel and roasting a turkey breast.
About to go watch the rest of Desperate Housewives.
Hopefully things will be back to normal soon.
Saturday, October 9, 2010
This post won't be very long as I'm under the weather a bit. It's the change in weather.
I, Afrodeezha, have a clown phobia. Ever since I saw It and saw a show on John Wayne Gacy's life (he lived in my town at one point). I just don't do 'em. I've passed this on to my children too.
As much as I hate clowns, I hate the Burger King more. That thing is just creepy x 100. I don't know what it is about it.
I just saw a commercial where you can order a BK pillow that has a menu on one side and the King on the other. Who does that? Really?
I know who won't be...
Hah, made it by midnight my time!
Friday, October 8, 2010
It has been a helluva day.
I woke up at dialysis this morning, to post nasal drip. That almost always starts with a cough, progresses to a sore throat and stuffy nose and ends with Tonsilitis. Yay.
Got home. Started brushing my teeth. Looked down in the sink and it looked like a CSI crime scene. My arm gets wrapped after dialysis and I usually cover it, shower and head to work.
No, this morning I had to take off my dressing, rewrap it and change clothes-with one hand.
My kids get queasy, but my youngest did tear tape for me.
While I'm sanitizing the sink, he comes back in and tells me his skateboard injury from days before, is getting worse.
So I make an appointment to see the Dr. mid-morning.
I take him to school. I go to work.
I take him to his appointment and she concludes with a sports hernia. Basically stay off the skateboard and light activity til Monday. Cool.
I take him home before taking him back to school. He sits down to eat lunch, then goes to stand and he can't stand up straight without pain. I tell him to just stay home and I go back to work, calling the Dr. on the way.
They call me back about 30 minutes after I get to work and want me to take him to the ER for xrays.
Out of habit, I go to the hospital my old insurance required me to go to. I regret it almost immediately, but he's already registered. This is around 2..
He finally gets into sono at 6!! Freakin' ridiculous!
I almost left and went to an express care, but I wasn't sure if my insurance would pay for both, so I stayed.
The Dr. was annoying. He kept asking the exact same questions, repeatedly. My son even got annoyed and he makes it a point to annoy everyone as much as he can. Almost like a drunk or high mofo.
Well after the sonogram shows no hernia, is when he repeatedly asked where it hurt? When did it start? How was his pee?
After coming to NO CONCLUSION and asking how painful it was (my son said since he'd been laying down, only when they poked him) this mofo writes my son a script for coedine. FOR WHAT?
After scratching his head for the better part of 20 minutes, he said, I'd like to do a CT Scan. We'll shoot him with a dye and we can rule out appendicitis. Hold up! How'd we go from nothing to this? He says it could be in the very, very early stages.
Well at this point, I don't trust him and don't at all like how he's pushing this on me.
I decline. Then he says these words: "I understand that traditionally, your culture teaches boys to be tough and your son is probably in more pain than he's saying."
ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!?! DID YOU REALLY JUST SAY THAT SHIT TO ME? In my head, I'm thinking of the higher ups that I know personally, that run that ER and when I will see them to tell them this shit. I cut him off and ask if I need to sign something to decline treatment, so I can get the hell out.
We finally walk in the door at 9 pm on the dot. I am sick and tired of the hospital!
Thursday, October 7, 2010
I really didn't have anything that popped into my head to write about today.
That may be because I've been stuck in my apartment all day. Ok, not really stuck, but I chose not to go anywhere.
I was up fooling around on the computer last night because I couldn't sleep and was still up at 2, so when 6 and then 7 came around, I couldn't really function. My 13 year old didn't feel good, so I called in for him and called in for me and went back to sleep.
You know what popped in my head when I sat down just now? Ok, first and foremost, I'm a Big Chick, so this is nothing against them, but SOME Big Chicks were obviously not taught about hygeine.
Big Chicks (and Big Dudes) do not smell, as the stereotype would like you to think. In fact, the folks in my circle smell pretty damn good.
Random folks, not always the case.
I know the likelihood of them seeing this is pretty slim, but just in case...(speaking of Justin Case, that female Rerun commercial pisses me the fuck off).
When you take a shower, you must take care to reach, lift and open up spaces that may not see much sunlight. No shame in cleanliness whatsoever and the general public will appreciate it.
I have had lapband surgery and even 87 lbs. ago, funk was not a factor (and I can't wear perfume).
Anyway, don't be afraid to visit these places two or three times per shower. Once a week at least, it wouldn't hurt (if you can) to take a bath. Sitting in water is a good thing.
In the summer time we sweat more and the sweaty boob smell at the end of the day is nothing nice. When you put deoderant on in the morning or at night, swipe a little under your breasts, that will help.
Please note: The cakey boobs is not pretty. Leave the baby powder alone.
Be careful where you shave and check regularly for ingrown hairs (extra moisture plus ingrown hair or cuts can sometimes equal pimples or *gasp* boils.
Big Dudes, the suggestions also work for you. I'm sure that man boobs trap moisture and odor too. Another concern is that you take the time to reach down and around your nut sack. It's only fair, especially if you expect someone to be down there putting in work. Present yourselves beautifully, like a chef would at a restaurant.
I love being a Big Chick and am actually going through a few changes as my body changes with the weight loss, but trust me, these few extra steps are necessary and could possibly help someone.
If you know someone who should read this, feel free to send a link, but don't be mean spirited about it if you do.
Sometimes people just don't know...
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
I have two jobs. I'm pretty much a loner at my day job. My night one? There's no way possible.
I work in a nursery.
I work with one other chick, a white girl. She is always amazed when while we're talking or when she does something and I have a blank look, I tell her "That's a white thing".
I swear she thinks I'm racist on the DL. I'm not. I couldn't be. My kids are the only two out of the 8 grandchildren that have all black grandparents and I LOVE my nieces and nephews AND their grandparents. But dammit we do stuff differently!
How, you say? My co-worker's daughter goes to the bathroom at the nursery (public to just the nursery kids) and doesn't line up the toilet seat with toilet paper. That's a white thing. All the black mamas I know, made sure their daughters knew how to power squat in public restrooms. Hell, I've got no cartilage in one knee, I'll take a cup in the bathroom and say eff it!
My co-worker's daughter calls her grandmother by her first name. That's a white thing! Don't nobody black do that! What did Mama used to say? Put a handle on it! Auntie so and so; Mister so and so; even older cousins were Cousin so and so.
Call my grandmama by her first name? Only after her death and I still look over my shoulder!
Chick had to get get one of our kids from their swimming lesson and she let her walk alllll the way down the public hallway sans shoes! WHITE THING!!! She was floored when I told her black people don't do barefoot most times, except at home! I told her black people think parasites and germs n shit. *shiver*
A different co-worker was telling me this story *sink into your seat, it's kinda lengthy, I'll shorten as much as I can*
Her kids saw a dead possum. Their father had told them that usually when a possum gets hit and it's a mama, the babies are in her pouch and they end up suffocating to death. So what do they do? They go pick up the dead possum (a white thing) and slam it against a tree until the 8 babies pop out. The take them IN THE HOUSE (A FUCKING WHITE THING!) and make a "nest" of leaves and twigs in a less used bathtub and feed them condensed milk and mashed up worms until they can take care of themselves.
I ask you...who does that? *looks to the left* *looks to the right* WHITE PEOPLE DAMMIT!! LOL!
Ok, ok, there are some exceptions. Sometimes black folk have lost their way and they make the rest of us look bad.
Case in point...a different co-worker of mine, a black woman, is raising her granddaughter. When my vehicle was out of commission, she gave me rides. I was VERY appreciative, but chickie can't drive. I mean seriously, if you get nervous in traffic, you need a Toyota, not a Suburban! So the rule is, if I ride in your vehicle, it must be behind the wheel. Hey, she agreed! *whispering* not a black thing, LOL.
Anyway, we pick up the granddaughter from daycare. She's 3 mind you. I wait for her to buckle her in the car seat or the girl to buckle herself. Someone. Before I put the truck in reverse. They both just sit there. I say I'm not moving til the car seat is fixed. Do you know this grown ass (fake) black woman said "Oh, she doesn't like to wear it."
Ninja whaaaaaaat?!?!?! What do you mean SHE doesn't like to wear it? SHE doesn't have a choice. SHE doesn't even know how to spell her first and last name. 'Tha f*@k outta here!
I got out of the truck and got in the little girl's face and told her to sit back while I put her car seat together. She said she didn't want to. So I broke out the real deal. I said do you like being a pretty little girl? Yes. Do you know what will happen if we get in an accident and you don't have your seatbelt on? No. You will fly out of that sunroof and cut your face on the way out and you will be on the ground and bleeding and you will have a big scratch on your face IF you can get back up. Is that what you want? No. Then stop talking back and sit down and be quiet and still, while I put on your belt! I had no problems after that.
Negotiating with a 3 year old? Nah, that ain't a white thing. That's a stupid thing. I wish I would.
I could go on and on, but I'm going to stop here. There are clear differences between the way black mamas and white mamas raise their children. As long as they all teach with love and respect, I guess it doesn't really matter.
The fact remains though that some things only traditionally happen with white mamas and as a black mama, I just don't understand.
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Not really sure what I'm going to talk about today, so I'm truly just freestyling it.
I thought it was funny that showing half my boob yesterday, yielded 77 views, my highest yet.
I choose not to keep up with current events that involve the molestation, death or abuse of a child. It hurts too much.
What happened to Jennifer Hudson's family hurt me to the core.
I still miss Gerald Levert and Tupac terribly.
I dig some of today's rap artists, but for the most part, I choose to live in the past as far as music.
I used to have a crush on Kwame Kilpatrick.
I love a man that I know doesn't and probably never will love me the way I'd like him to.
Right now, he still makes me happy, so it doesn't matter.
I'm learning to appreciate different ways a person can love you.
I haven't been to a regular church service at my church since probably May (or is that March?)
It's because church people can be assholes and drive you faster and further from the church then you can drive yourself.
I miss it.
I've gotten within a block of church on a Sunday morning and turned around and gone home.
I wish people who come by, would say hello, just to let me know I'm not talking to myself.
I thought it was interesting that someone from Israel came through "Shalom".
Before the year 2000, I found it very hard to mainting a girlfriend circle.
When I became active on the internet, I developed a very solid SiStar circle.
None of my SiStars live within 900 miles of me.
Sometimes I forget some of us have never met.
I can be faithful in a long distance relationship.
I'm done for now...Hey, feel free to post some random thoughts too. Holla!
Monday, October 4, 2010
October is breast cancer awareness month and I was inspired to write this after reading Almond Joy's Sweetness post yesterday.
It was early one morning, in I believe, June 2003. I was in the shower. My breast started tingling. Anyone who's had a baby knows what it feels like when their milk "comes down". So I squeezed my breast and sure enough, I "got milk".
The problem? My baby was 6 years old, I was 33 and I was NOT pregnant! I thought to myself "What kinda hell?".
I promptly made an appointment to see my doctor and told no one.
The doctor immediately sent me down to get a mammogram and as I feared, they found something. I was scheduled for a biopsy the next week and still, I told no one.
I guess I felt like if I didn't say anything out loud, it would be alright. After all, I didn't want my family to worry for nothing, right?
Well, that weekend, I went to visit my boyfriend's (at the time) mother and ended up spilling the beans. She asked if I wanted her to go with me. I admitted that I did.
Well, 2 days before the biopsy, she called me and said she would be unable to make it (she lived about an hour away) and that I should call my mother, she would want to know.
I didn't want to tell my mother. Our relationship wasn't all that and I felt that whatever I said, she'd find something to judge me on, so I never told her anything. None of my family.
Well, I ended up calling her and she agreed to meet me there. As always, there was some breach in communication and the day of the biopsy, I ended up there alone. I called to see where she was and she was doing something else and had somehow gotten the wrong day. So when they called my name, it was just me and Jesus.
The thing about a biopsy? You don't get general anesthesia, you're wide awake and they give you a local. I don't know to this day who the nurse was. For all I know, she may not have really been there and just an angel, but she held my hand and talked to me the whole time.
I didn't know what to expect when I walked into the darkened room. There is a small table and basically there is a spotlight on you. There is a needle that they put into the area to be biopsied and like an alien, that needle opens up and a little clipper kind of thing comes out and they snip a sample of the tissue.
You are sore for DAYS.
It ended up being a benign blockage in my milk duct and it dissolved over time.
Up to that point, I'd been sporadic about doing self exams, but now I do them all the time. Early detection is key to recovery.
Here is the proper way to do a self breast exam.
Breast cancer is not limited to women. Men can get it too. Here is a list of celebrity breast cancer survivors.
Do yourself a favor and feel your boobies and live.