I Used to Write

So I was perusing my favorite blogs and suddenly remembered that I used to have one. Well, thanks to the good folks at Google and their endless data storage, I was able to find it. I only had a handful of posts but they are quirky and funny and definitely reflective of me.

 I realized miss writing. I was too shy to open up my blog to others. I was so worried about my career and reputation that it sometimes left me unable to write anything so I gave it up.

Now here I sit three years later and I think the words are ready to flow... I mean if E.L. James can have three New York Times bestsellers, how much worse could I do? Well, get ready to see as I unleash my 2012 rambling.

New Year

2009.

Yeah, so I realize I haven't written a thing in over a month but things have gotten busy:

Barack Obama is our president.
Thanksgiving and Christmas...
We are still in a recession so I needed to actually do work at my old job.
I have a new job (YAY!)
I no longer have 3 or more jobs at once.. just one.

So anyway, things are good. I hope to check in with my three readers (Ah growth!) more frequently now. And possibility allow you all to chortle a bit in the workplace. There are several things I plan to blog about in the near future:

Confessions of a Shopaholic
Facebook
Ex-boyfriends and why I am happy they married someone else
Iphone Love


Toodles!

In-uh-pro-pree-et

Ok first let me say two posts back to back! Yeah for me! ) I still have not figured out how the good folks of the innanet stay employed while blogging, reading and responding all day.) N-T way, the topic for today is appropriate mates. I have created a very basic bucket list for gals like me.



1. Readiness. Run away from any 30+ y.o. dude still hanging out erry other night at a different club, lounge, gathering, etc... This dude is not ready to settle down and play the Ken to your brown Barbie much less settle down and make a lil Skipper (oh shut up, yes I know thats her lil sister but work with me). This dude is the downfall of all IBMs.



2. Gainfully Employed: He does not have to be next in line as the CEO for SAS Institute but shizam Scooby, he gotsa have a decent job with benefits. Your level of bougie-fied scrutinizaton of his long term earning potential is up to you.


3. Single. For the last time people, "I am leaving her, I swear!" are not the words of a single man. Even if he's separated, guess what? HE'S NOT SINGLE! If he dies, his wife gets everything, including the rights to his last name and the aforementioned benefits. Here's a tip ladies: Most single, Black men are Hongry (that is not a typo), lonely and tired of being single. If you feed them, speak with a modicum of interest and are able to be quiet during the game. You my friend can get out of the game too.

The Antithesis

My sister mentioned Coolio's new show. Apparently he is looking for his new love interest. The convo went a lil like this:

Sis: I feel a little sad for Coolio
Me: LOL! Coolio is the antithesis of my very being
Sis: I just feel bad for him. He had money and all those opportunities and such. How do you fall off like that?
Me: Easy! See exhibit 1: MC Hammer

Now mind you, we recently had a lengthy convo about my uber-high standards in men. I think they are way reasonable but my sister thinks that I have such stringent dating requirements that there would only be about 13.75 men within a 50 mile radius that would met them. Of course, I wholeheartedly disagree... I just like what I like.

Now, back to Coolio, I don't care of I lost both legs, gained 100 pounds and stayed with a multiude of cold sores on both my top and bottom lips, I would'nt date him. I mean not even if all the batteries in America were quarantined and all other men perished but him. Naw man, hell naw! HE WEARS TINY PLAITS THAT STICK UP OFF HIS HEAD! And furthermore, he cuts holes out of age-inappropritae hats to allow said hair to stick out. Plus he looks like he is in the beginning stages of a mean crack recovery/treatment program.

I say all of this to say, "Can't we find a happy medium people?" he doesn't have to the Barack to my Michelle but he damn sho can't be the Jody to my Yvette either.

Yes We Did! Post Commentary

OK, so I was nervous all day on Tuesday. I had the bubbleguts and all. I went back and forth about whether I should stay at home (to avoid the massive "social unrest that would likely occur if the home team did'nt win) or go out and be social. I chose the latter and pieced together a festive Election Results ensemble. Actually, I had two different fits but don't hate me, I know it was extra but the evening called for two distinct looks: I am a future Michelle Obama/I'm casually fly with my Obama tee and namebrand jeans.

So I call up my homegirl and we roll out to the Democratic party celebration at this hotel downtown. This was a thinly veiled effort to scout some IBMs (ideal black men) but I went 0 for 1. However, my homegirl rolls up on dude who looks like he could have given Mr. "I-can-tell-you-how-I-feel-about-you-night-and-day" a run for his money back in the day (read 20 years ago). I skate off to the corner cuz I'm just not feeling the brothas up in here. I give her and said old skool dude space but she is really chopping it up with dude so I am patient. Meanwhile, te race appers to be getting close between our boy and McGeezer. I finally have to text her to close the deal so we can ride out to the 2nd location.

We arrive and as soon as we walk in, they announce it. Obama won! I am overcome with unspeakable joy! My people are hugging, screaming and pumping their fists in the air! I almost can't believe it, the moment is so surreal. Then the DJ turns up the music and you know its on! I see Mrs. Moosekiller on the big screen tearing up and I can't help but feel a mixture of relief and downright giddy. I laugh... and shake my bootay.

We hang out until the wee hours. Obama makes his speech and the entire joint is in complete silence. I note that the brothers are hugging the ladies excessively and deduce that Obama may have inadvertently made a lot of Black men winners that night.

Biggums

This just makes me laugh... I really needed it today....

Reminds of a coworker. I mean she gotta be on that ish! She does things that are clearly indicative of a TV set stealing, dry skin scratching, completely irrational/unicorn spotting crackhead.

I regularly think to myself "What are you smoking, yo?"

I'm so glad, that I am a different person now and I no longer revert to my former hoodtastic, ranting, raving, cuss-you- three-ways-to-Sunday personality! She makes me wanna slap the ish out of her on the reg.

Ever had a coworker that just drives you to drank?

My neck and my back

Ouch! I have injured my back somehow... Get your mind out of the gutter! I have no idea how I injured it, it literally came outta nowhere Nasty McPervykins. I have iced it, heated it and acetominophened it to death. I even took a day off of work... but to no avail. I am still in considerable pain. So I am making the dreaded visit to the doctor. No, I do not like the doctor at all... they usually cannot give you a conclusive diagnosis but somehow they always want their fee in a conclusive rendering (i.e. cash, check or charge).

I hate the hurry up and wait of it all. I hate the smell (a dose of sickness with high notes of hand sanitizers and band-aids). I hate the lack of good reading literature (you're never gonna find the latest version of InStyle or Essence but they will inevitably have some ratty Good Housekeepings circa 2002). And last but not least, I hate the cacophony of chaps (read: kids) running around unsupervised, coughing, snotting, crying and whining all over the place.

However, after two days of back pain, I am willing to overlook my intense dislike for seeing the doctor in hopes getting temporary relief from this nagging pain until my body can heal itself. Yes, I seek the almighty muscle relaxer yall. Now before you go calling 1-800-Charter, I am simply stating that I already know that Dr. Homeslice will have limited guestimates (read: what you get paid over 100K to do on a daily basis) about my prognosis and will lean to my inifinite understanding. Anyway, we'll do the "Hey-little-angry-black-lady-what-happened-does-it-hurt-here-hmmm-let's see-I-don't-know-oh-well-I-gotta-hurry-up-here's-your-prescription-see-me-if-it-gets-any-worse" 10 minute doctor/patient dance.

So we're off to see the wizard, the wondeful wizard of...
muscle realxers! LOL!