Even though we had Monday off (well I did – let me not speak for erybody), this feels like the longest week ever. My work woes make me wanna holla, throw up bof my hands, then bring em back down and smack my crazy co-worker. This week has me being like eff this thing called adulthood. Eff bills. Eff continued car problems. Eff these centipede bugs in my house. Eff working out and tryna be fit. Eff my responsibilies. Nope I don't wanna do it. Don't wanna help you. Or you. Or you either. What I really wanna do, what I really wanna do, I wanna go back and lay on the beach RIGHT FREAKIN NOW!
Ahhhhh but that is not life. It goes on and so do we, just how we it is no mystery...* But this week has me thinking about what we put weight on. How the things we dwell on probably will be of little importance in life’s overall timeline. How what we think matters so much at the time will barely register years from now. And if it does, you be like, "I was trippin off that?!? What was wrong with me?"
This week I thought about how I used to work for a crazy woman who lived in DC, but one day claimed she was stranded at Reagan National Airport. Yes, you read that right. No it didn't make sense then and years later it still don't. And it made me realize in the midst of my current crazy how far I had come.
Back then I truly hated my job. Not just the people. The whole job. I was living at home. Waitressing at the skrip club on the weekends. Dating some dude who is now engaged to another chick. Ha! But what did I focus on back then? The crazy. The totally insane. The negative. The stressful situation. The complaints. The I needs. The 'get me the hell outta here', please and thanks pleas.
It’s what we do. Get bogged down in the details of life. Let the daily grind wear us down. Sweat allll the small stuff. Focus on the tears. Forget the things that make us smile. Shoooottt...forget to even smile.
But last night after I cooked myself a tasty meal and enjoyed being a couch potato, I stood in the front of my bedroom mirror with a hairbrush in one hand and channeled my inner 12 year old to Willow Smith’s new song ‘Whip My Hair’. Ok. I know. It’s not the best song ever. But it’s catchy and cute. And I, Rum Punch, whipped my hair back and forth, and did the wop, and almost gave myself whiplash. And in those three minutes I was carefree. Laughing. Unburdened. Shoved adult things aside for a few moments to just breathe. Sing. And whip it. Whip it real good.
That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!
*I really loved Empty Nest back in the day. NBC had a good Saturday line up back then.
Go 'head and whip yo' hair back and forth at your desk! :-)
Showing posts with label WTF. Show all posts
Showing posts with label WTF. Show all posts
Friday, September 10, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
In Yo' Face
Do y’all know what makes me laugh/sticks in my craw/grinds my gears the mostest? No of course y’all don’t, so let me tell y’all. People who are dumb. No, scratch that. People who like to play dumb. Or maybe it’s people who have no self awareness about themselves. Or people who don’t want to face facts and subsequently reality. Or people who wanna act like their ish don’t stink. And you wanna be like, "well lean a lil' bit closer cause roses really smell like..." What? Everybody sing!
Here’s where I’m at. My co-“worker”, y’all remember her – well she’s still not doing any work. Whatev. I’ve made peace with that fact. Well yesterday she met with our boss to discuss next steps for the year and apparently our boss told her that our big manager and Deputy Director have observed that her work “bestie” is frequently over in our area chatting with her. “Can you believe that,” she said to me in what I’m hoping was a fake tizzy. (And then she continued to gripe about it this morning!!) “That’s crazy,” I responded. But really.
C’MON SON!
You don’t do noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo work! And everybody knows this. So, don’t you think that this is these white women’s path ofleast bytch ass resistance? They scared, so they won’t call YOU out on not working. So they’ll blame it on your homegirl. Maybe if she weren’t in your area soo much… then you would do some work. Yeah whatever. That ain't happening. But her actin' ignorant and oblivious has me lookin at her sideways. Literally. I have to tilt my neck when I'm talkin' to her cause she's not making sense.
So, yeah this is the same woman who talks so loud on the phone that I know that the main reason she decided to sell her house is because they closed down the KFC in her neighborhood, but she stay making sounds of annoyance if someone raises their voice above a whisper. The same woman who has practically no hair who still makes the conscious decision to wear a weave and let the tracks show, but is quick to talk about someone’s outfit, cheap shoes, or bad hair day. The same woman who just this morning asked about this portly guy who has a baby on the way – “who gave him some?” While I been sitting at my desk wondering this whole time who gave YOU some thus causing you to be somebody’s mommy!!
And it makes me wonder about people who can see everyone else so clearly, but not themselves. Who have an opinion about what everyone else is doing, ain’t doing, need to do to get they life right – meanwhile you looking at them like homie, do you need a mirror? I mean I have a small one in my purse, just to get us started. Yes, I think that unless our names are Jesus Christ, there is a part of us (some small, some HUGE) that judges people. I know so many of us fix our lips, crack our knuckles, and get into a fighting stance, when we got somethinggood bad to say bout somebody. And while I know that I am nowhere near perfect, here’s what I also know about myself:
I am a true a Leo who can be terribly selfish on Monday. And yet totally selfless on Thursday. I can’t whisper. And I have a loud laugh. I lurve, lurve, lurve to wear cute skirts and dresses paired with unique shoes and handbags. And I know when I look fierce! And when my hair looks a mess. I can make all kinds of people laugh. I like pina coladas and laughter in the rain. Neither of those things is true. I have done some ho ish in my lifetime. I have held grudges. And I have played dirty. I know when I don’t be working hard. And when I don’t be working at all. Like right now as I type this post… I can be a know-it-all. And I can be shy. I am nice. But when I'm mean, you don't want it with me. I empathize. And I judge. And I am full of opinions and contradictions.
But one of the crucial things I think I've realized as I get grown is the importance of seeing where you fit, your part, your responsibility, your role in the equation of life. It can't always be somebody else's fault. Pointing fingers, being catty, playing the blame game - those are all easy - that inner work - that's hard. And maybe people don't do it because they know what they'll find, they know it won't be pretty, and they don't like it.
But it's always gonna be easier and seemingly make you feel better, when you make someone else lower. Bring them down a peg or two. Smile in their face and talk about them as they walk away. Recently after I sent a friendly email to a co-worker who is not known for being friendly, crazy co-worker told me that I am just too nice. Heh. Mkay. If only she knew what I be keepin inside. But I just smiled and nodded. Cause you know what they say, if you ain't got nuffin' nice to say. Say nuffin.
That's my time y'all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!
Here’s where I’m at. My co-“worker”, y’all remember her – well she’s still not doing any work. Whatev. I’ve made peace with that fact. Well yesterday she met with our boss to discuss next steps for the year and apparently our boss told her that our big manager and Deputy Director have observed that her work “bestie” is frequently over in our area chatting with her. “Can you believe that,” she said to me in what I’m hoping was a fake tizzy. (And then she continued to gripe about it this morning!!) “That’s crazy,” I responded. But really.
C’MON SON!
You don’t do noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo work! And everybody knows this. So, don’t you think that this is these white women’s path of
So, yeah this is the same woman who talks so loud on the phone that I know that the main reason she decided to sell her house is because they closed down the KFC in her neighborhood, but she stay making sounds of annoyance if someone raises their voice above a whisper. The same woman who has practically no hair who still makes the conscious decision to wear a weave and let the tracks show, but is quick to talk about someone’s outfit, cheap shoes, or bad hair day. The same woman who just this morning asked about this portly guy who has a baby on the way – “who gave him some?” While I been sitting at my desk wondering this whole time who gave YOU some thus causing you to be somebody’s mommy!!
And it makes me wonder about people who can see everyone else so clearly, but not themselves. Who have an opinion about what everyone else is doing, ain’t doing, need to do to get they life right – meanwhile you looking at them like homie, do you need a mirror? I mean I have a small one in my purse, just to get us started. Yes, I think that unless our names are Jesus Christ, there is a part of us (some small, some HUGE) that judges people. I know so many of us fix our lips, crack our knuckles, and get into a fighting stance, when we got something
I am a true a Leo who can be terribly selfish on Monday. And yet totally selfless on Thursday. I can’t whisper. And I have a loud laugh. I lurve, lurve, lurve to wear cute skirts and dresses paired with unique shoes and handbags. And I know when I look fierce! And when my hair looks a mess. I can make all kinds of people laugh. I like pina coladas and laughter in the rain. Neither of those things is true. I have done some ho ish in my lifetime. I have held grudges. And I have played dirty. I know when I don’t be working hard. And when I don’t be working at all. Like right now as I type this post… I can be a know-it-all. And I can be shy. I am nice. But when I'm mean, you don't want it with me. I empathize. And I judge. And I am full of opinions and contradictions.
But one of the crucial things I think I've realized as I get grown is the importance of seeing where you fit, your part, your responsibility, your role in the equation of life. It can't always be somebody else's fault. Pointing fingers, being catty, playing the blame game - those are all easy - that inner work - that's hard. And maybe people don't do it because they know what they'll find, they know it won't be pretty, and they don't like it.
But it's always gonna be easier and seemingly make you feel better, when you make someone else lower. Bring them down a peg or two. Smile in their face and talk about them as they walk away. Recently after I sent a friendly email to a co-worker who is not known for being friendly, crazy co-worker told me that I am just too nice. Heh. Mkay. If only she knew what I be keepin inside. But I just smiled and nodded. Cause you know what they say, if you ain't got nuffin' nice to say. Say nuffin.
That's my time y'all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!
Friday, April 16, 2010
The Dating Ten(ets)
Looking For Your Daddy Series - Volume 1, Issue 3
We haven't done one of these in awhile. So let's get it. Rum Punch's Dating Top Ten! Top Ten what? Observations? Random Musings? Recent experiences that seem to be leading to jaded perspectives? Idk. But it's all totally based off how I feel this week. Things are always subject to change if someone decent comes along...
10. Whoever said dating was fun, lied to themselves. And then to the masses. There is this movie called Half Nelson, about a white teacher who works in the inner city and is addicted to crack. The writer/director can't remember which said he wanted to show the tedium of drug use, unlike most movies that show the euphoria. And wow did they ever - cause by the time he lit that crack pipe for like the 50leventh time, you were ready to snatch it out his hand and take his ass to rehab. Like word? Are you smoking again?! And that's how I feel about dating. On the surface - Fun! Exciting! A new person! Let's just be easy, breezy, beautiful Cover Girl and see where it goes! Oh but get past the bone and down to the marrow - tedium.
9. A Black girl is listening to the gospel station whilst looking for parking to go on a date with a Jewish man. This is not the beginning of a joke. This was me last Sunday – off to try something new!
8. And while Jewish man was buying us drinks, a handsome black man came over to me and tried to holla. Rum Punch looks down at herself and has apparently exchanged places with Sanna Lathan. Looks into the cameras, like word? Really? Cause this neva eva happens any other time. As Black guy chats me up, Jewish man comes with drinks – Black guy looks at me with a quizzical stare, like, “this you?” Snicker from him. Yeah. That’s me.
7. Men should talk more. Or else I’m fina get off this phone.
6. But not too much. Don’t need to hear bout that failed marriage, the houses you used to own, and what you had for breakfast all in the first 10 minutes.
5. I met a guy who I thought was cool. And he actually called! And not that textassness! Say whaaa? Ladies and our one gent reader, we have a potential candidate! Only I have now learned that he’s way older. Like way older than I thought. This would explain why he calls, probably "can't" text. Heh. Sometimes black should crack. Sigh.
4. Internet dating is. For other people. Whose name is not Rum Punch.
3. However, an internet dating site did match me up with a guy who I’m already cool with. Color me surprised and kinda intrigued. Do they know something I don’t? Or did they set us up cause we’re both Black and live in the urrea?
2. I wanna be excited about my next date. Like oooo he makes me kinda nervous, what am I gonna wear, where we gonna go, I might could like him kinda excited. Not I’ma just keep on this outfit I wore to church and then to this play and then lounged around in for the rest of the afternoon and meet him at 7, meh.
1. But until that occurs, I guess I'll keep lighting up this dating crack pipe and go back out there. And have fun! Or something that looks like it. And be open to what the universe brings me! And just do me! And see what happens. And other cliches.
That's my time y'all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!
Groovin' hard to this on Monday night is how I caught my old man. Curse me and my love for the oldies...
We haven't done one of these in awhile. So let's get it. Rum Punch's Dating Top Ten! Top Ten what? Observations? Random Musings? Recent experiences that seem to be leading to jaded perspectives? Idk. But it's all totally based off how I feel this week. Things are always subject to change if someone decent comes along...
10. Whoever said dating was fun, lied to themselves. And then to the masses. There is this movie called Half Nelson, about a white teacher who works in the inner city and is addicted to crack. The writer/director can't remember which said he wanted to show the tedium of drug use, unlike most movies that show the euphoria. And wow did they ever - cause by the time he lit that crack pipe for like the 50leventh time, you were ready to snatch it out his hand and take his ass to rehab. Like word? Are you smoking again?! And that's how I feel about dating. On the surface - Fun! Exciting! A new person! Let's just be easy, breezy, beautiful Cover Girl and see where it goes! Oh but get past the bone and down to the marrow - tedium.
9. A Black girl is listening to the gospel station whilst looking for parking to go on a date with a Jewish man. This is not the beginning of a joke. This was me last Sunday – off to try something new!
8. And while Jewish man was buying us drinks, a handsome black man came over to me and tried to holla. Rum Punch looks down at herself and has apparently exchanged places with Sanna Lathan. Looks into the cameras, like word? Really? Cause this neva eva happens any other time. As Black guy chats me up, Jewish man comes with drinks – Black guy looks at me with a quizzical stare, like, “this you?” Snicker from him. Yeah. That’s me.
7. Men should talk more. Or else I’m fina get off this phone.
6. But not too much. Don’t need to hear bout that failed marriage, the houses you used to own, and what you had for breakfast all in the first 10 minutes.
5. I met a guy who I thought was cool. And he actually called! And not that textassness! Say whaaa? Ladies and our one gent reader, we have a potential candidate! Only I have now learned that he’s way older. Like way older than I thought. This would explain why he calls, probably "can't" text. Heh. Sometimes black should crack. Sigh.
4. Internet dating is. For other people. Whose name is not Rum Punch.
3. However, an internet dating site did match me up with a guy who I’m already cool with. Color me surprised and kinda intrigued. Do they know something I don’t? Or did they set us up cause we’re both Black and live in the urrea?
2. I wanna be excited about my next date. Like oooo he makes me kinda nervous, what am I gonna wear, where we gonna go, I might could like him kinda excited. Not I’ma just keep on this outfit I wore to church and then to this play and then lounged around in for the rest of the afternoon and meet him at 7, meh.
1. But until that occurs, I guess I'll keep lighting up this dating crack pipe and go back out there. And have fun! Or something that looks like it. And be open to what the universe brings me! And just do me! And see what happens. And other cliches.
That's my time y'all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!
Groovin' hard to this on Monday night is how I caught my old man. Curse me and my love for the oldies...
Friday, April 9, 2010
How Low Can You Go?
Hey y’all! How’s it going today? So, admittedly I am getting old. When listening to the radio, I tend to go from gospel, to oldies, then to the other oldies/neo soulish station, then if there are no good options, I head to the stations where hip hop lives. Or dies a slow death. What up Nas. Anywho. I had heard that Usher song, the one with Nicki Minaj, but like a 12 year old was just caught up in the beat. And not really hearing it, ya dig? But being the old person that I am when Nicki would rap, I would be like, “why does it sound like she’s talking to another girl?” And then…
Dark & Stormy sent me this article, titled I Done Had About Enough, and Raving Black Lunatic was talking about how in that said song Usher and Nicki are talking about a ménage a trois. And I was like sayyyy whhaaat? Is that what they are talking bout? Hold up. Wait a minute. No. I immediately responded to Dark & Stormy with a what the hell? I checked with Mint Julep. “Yeah chile. And you gotta check the video,” she said. I headed over to youtube and after finding the uncut video was asked if I were 18 years old. Mercy. I watched. And listened to the lyrics for the first time. And was dead at:
If you're fcukin with me
Really fcukin with me you go get some girls and bring them to me
If you fcukin with me
Really fckuing with me you let her put her hands in your pants
be my little freak
Ummm… No, thank you? I’m not going to go into how I can’t believe that they play this mess on the radio. And I know that I came up in the era of Lil’ Kim’s I used to be scared of the dyck and put it in your mouf in your m-in-fin mouf, and West Coast gobble a dyck Explosive. But um er…those songs from what I can remember were not played on the radio. But that’s not the point of this post. The point is…
This is why these nigs have no damn sense! Rum Punch are you blaming rap music? Yes, I am! Is that fair? No, it’s not. But it’s Friday, my day, so just let me write it yo! Heh. And I’m really not just blaming rap music, but just how oversexed and inappropriate we are becoming as a society. Like how is it ok for someone to say, you know what the music world is missing right now, is in desperate need of at this very moment, what the people really need to hear - a song where I can tell a chick to put her hands in another chick’s pants. A song where I can peer pressure a chick to bring me back some hos. Cause you must not be fcukin' with me if you won't do it. And no one is like that’s crazy? You can’t put that on the radio? M’kay. I weep for these babies. And for us ladies of this current generation for that matter.
Cause a dollar to a donut, some guy will repeat this lyric (or a variation of) to a woman and think it’s ok. I mean cause wasn’t she just shaking her ass to it on the dance floor two seconds ago, anyway? Some girl will get asked point blank if she would ever go to a sex club. Some unsuspecting woman is gonna open her phone and see a text message of his d**k in a box. Like that’s ok. Some guy will "slyly" ask you to have a threesome. Or want you to send him a video of you. Some guy will get his Tiger Woods on and text some foul ass, this muhfcuka done lost his mind, does yo’ mama like you, type texts. I mean did y’all see those Tiger Woods texts? My homegirl and I were joking that he put Kwame Kilpatrick to shame. Kwame was like ‘yo come give me some head.’ Tiger was like, “lemme pee on you” © Dave Chappelle. Like this is ok.*
But apparently it is. Cause who’s saying it’s not ok? I remember hearing Sister Soulja speak years ago in undergrad and she was talking about hip hop's disrespectful lyrics about women and how we ladies be like, “oh, but he [insert your favorite rapper here] ain’t talking bout me. He talkin’ bout that ho’ over there.” Uh huh. Yeah. Ok.
But it’s only a matter of time until you’re that ho. Or approached like you are one at least. No matter how classy you are. No matter that you don't get down like that. Or come off like that. And you don't dress like a ho. Or act like a ho. No matter if you got a degree, a job and you pay a mortgage and all yo' utility bills. No matter that you're a QUEEN and you command respect and he shoulda known better than come at you like that. No matter if your response will be 'oh hell no' and you done lost your mind. No matter if he was just tryin you to see how far you were gonna go. The point is, he's gonna think it's ok to expect you to go low, lower than you know. Oh and then while you're down there, could you just go ahead and let her put your hands in your pants?
That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!
*And please note I'm not talkin' about what you do with your boo to keep things fun and interesting. I'm talking about strangers. When you have to pause and be like 'nygga didn't we just meet'... Why would you think this is ok type ish...
Dark & Stormy sent me this article, titled I Done Had About Enough, and Raving Black Lunatic was talking about how in that said song Usher and Nicki are talking about a ménage a trois. And I was like sayyyy whhaaat? Is that what they are talking bout? Hold up. Wait a minute. No. I immediately responded to Dark & Stormy with a what the hell? I checked with Mint Julep. “Yeah chile. And you gotta check the video,” she said. I headed over to youtube and after finding the uncut video was asked if I were 18 years old. Mercy. I watched. And listened to the lyrics for the first time. And was dead at:
If you're fcukin with me
Really fcukin with me you go get some girls and bring them to me
If you fcukin with me
Really fckuing with me you let her put her hands in your pants
be my little freak
Ummm… No, thank you? I’m not going to go into how I can’t believe that they play this mess on the radio. And I know that I came up in the era of Lil’ Kim’s I used to be scared of the dyck and put it in your mouf in your m-in-fin mouf, and West Coast gobble a dyck Explosive. But um er…those songs from what I can remember were not played on the radio. But that’s not the point of this post. The point is…
This is why these nigs have no damn sense! Rum Punch are you blaming rap music? Yes, I am! Is that fair? No, it’s not. But it’s Friday, my day, so just let me write it yo! Heh. And I’m really not just blaming rap music, but just how oversexed and inappropriate we are becoming as a society. Like how is it ok for someone to say, you know what the music world is missing right now, is in desperate need of at this very moment, what the people really need to hear - a song where I can tell a chick to put her hands in another chick’s pants. A song where I can peer pressure a chick to bring me back some hos. Cause you must not be fcukin' with me if you won't do it. And no one is like that’s crazy? You can’t put that on the radio? M’kay. I weep for these babies. And for us ladies of this current generation for that matter.
Cause a dollar to a donut, some guy will repeat this lyric (or a variation of) to a woman and think it’s ok. I mean cause wasn’t she just shaking her ass to it on the dance floor two seconds ago, anyway? Some girl will get asked point blank if she would ever go to a sex club. Some unsuspecting woman is gonna open her phone and see a text message of his d**k in a box. Like that’s ok. Some guy will "slyly" ask you to have a threesome. Or want you to send him a video of you. Some guy will get his Tiger Woods on and text some foul ass, this muhfcuka done lost his mind, does yo’ mama like you, type texts. I mean did y’all see those Tiger Woods texts? My homegirl and I were joking that he put Kwame Kilpatrick to shame. Kwame was like ‘yo come give me some head.’ Tiger was like, “lemme pee on you” © Dave Chappelle. Like this is ok.*
But apparently it is. Cause who’s saying it’s not ok? I remember hearing Sister Soulja speak years ago in undergrad and she was talking about hip hop's disrespectful lyrics about women and how we ladies be like, “oh, but he [insert your favorite rapper here] ain’t talking bout me. He talkin’ bout that ho’ over there.” Uh huh. Yeah. Ok.
But it’s only a matter of time until you’re that ho. Or approached like you are one at least. No matter how classy you are. No matter that you don't get down like that. Or come off like that. And you don't dress like a ho. Or act like a ho. No matter if you got a degree, a job and you pay a mortgage and all yo' utility bills. No matter that you're a QUEEN and you command respect and he shoulda known better than come at you like that. No matter if your response will be 'oh hell no' and you done lost your mind. No matter if he was just tryin you to see how far you were gonna go. The point is, he's gonna think it's ok to expect you to go low, lower than you know. Oh and then while you're down there, could you just go ahead and let her put your hands in your pants?
That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!
*And please note I'm not talkin' about what you do with your boo to keep things fun and interesting. I'm talking about strangers. When you have to pause and be like 'nygga didn't we just meet'... Why would you think this is ok type ish...
Friday, October 2, 2009
You Were Cc'd
I work for an organization that is composed of about 99.8% women. And since we can’t handle our problems by wrestling in the mud or just hauling off and slapping someone in the face soap opera style, a variety of passive aggressive responses to problems and challenges are displayed. This includes, but is not limited to: talking to everyone else, but the person about the problem (until it finally gets back to said person), making someone else do your ‘dirty’ work, foregoing solidarity and telling your supervisor everything about that co-worker you can't stand.
But I think one of the most passive aggressive, ‘I’m gonna git you sucka’ type ish that happens in the workplace is the use of the cc. We all know about the dreaded cc, right? If you've never had the pleasure to experience the greatness that is the cc, here are some scenarios.
But I think one of the most passive aggressive, ‘I’m gonna git you sucka’ type ish that happens in the workplace is the use of the cc. We all know about the dreaded cc, right? If you've never had the pleasure to experience the greatness that is the cc, here are some scenarios.
So let's say you're at your desk working (or surfing the net), and for about half the day you and your co-worker have been having an email exchange that has borderlined on being a misunderstanding or a disagreement between you two, but for the most part has remained rather cordial and professional. And it’s not until you say that one thing that sets them off and next thing you know when your co-worker responds again, your boss has been cc’d. What the frick, you wanna scream?!? Now the dynamics have changed. They have decided to play dirty. And you end up looking like the crazy person. The uncooperative co-worker who won't play nice.
Or maybe you’re a lowly employee who’s having an exchange with your supervisor and you don’t like what task(s) they're giving you to do or how they want you to do it. And so your 'I'ma call you out on some ish you haven't done to take the heat off me' response includes a cc to they boss – knowing good and well that your supervisor is going to catch more hell than you, leaving you off the hook. For now at least.
Now, one could argue that the cc is used to ‘cover one’s tracks’ so to speak, have a paper trail that can be brought against the accused at a later date. But I think this is a punkest of punk moves. I feel that if you feel the need to use the cc, it should only be done for truly necessary reasons (like this person might not be the primary intended person for this info, but still needs to know this info) or strictly for drastic matters, like you bout to really whup that co-worker's ass and cc intervention is needed to talk you off the ledge. And should not be used for some everyday, it was your turn to make the coffee type mess. And don’t even get me started on the bcc.
But maybe I feel this way because I have no desire to swim a river, climb a corporate ladder, like so many of my counterparts. Instead, I just want to work my little job, make a decent salary that I can live on, have enough vacation hours to do my thang, and go home with no worries. I have absolutely no desire to prove anything to anybody. I don't want to defend my work ethic to you. And must we really come to email blows over some simple stuff? Knowing good and well something will happen tomorrow that is bound to set you off again. And so the cc cycle continues...
I'm telling y'all, some stop ccing shirts are so necessary. On some snitches get stitches. Ccin' gets beatins. Now run cc dat.
That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!
Friday, June 12, 2009
The Independent Clause
Have you seen Chris Rock's I Think I Love My Wife? If not, you should. It's pretty funny. The basic premise is that Chris Rock is living the bland marriage life. He's just regular. Has a regular mid level job at a financial type place. Lives in a regular house in the suburbs. Has a regular wife with two regular kids. "Enjoys" regular outings with other couples who talk about regular shyt. Just regular, regular, regular. The old folk might call it blessed. But whatev. So in comes the one and only Kerry Washington. She is an ex-girlfriend of one of Chris's friends. Now the details of how they meet back up are fuzzy in my mind. But she just pops up, looking all fine, bringing fun and excitement (or drama depending on how you view how much water is in the glass), and a break from the monotony. Chris is taken. And thus begins his downward spiral.
However, throughout the film, it would appear that Ms. Kerry can do nothing for herself. She is helpless, hapless and from where I sit pretty much useless. She can't get a job on her own and asks him to be reference. Forget the fact that they haven't seen each other in years. Or that it was for a basic hostess position. She can't move out her ex-boyfriend's apartment by herself and asks Chris to accompany her on a quick trip from NYC to DC. More drama happens. She can't find a place that she's going to have to live in by herself, on her own. She doesn't know how to spend her days by herself and makes drive by visits to his office to pass the time or get taken to lunch.While the underlying reason for all this is because she's a lil huzzy who is playing the 'let's see how long it takes to get him to fcuk me' game, let's focus on her lack of want or desire to do for self.
Now while I try to shun all labels, unless they come on purses or shoes, I do like to think that I'm a relatively independent Black woman. Not on some, "I don't need no man, I can do bad all by myself" type mess. But also not on some, "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers," type craziness either. But falling somewhere in between. I will ask a male friend to move that heavy couch, kill that bug, or change that flat tire. But if ain't none available, and it's just me and the ladies, I guess we better get to lifting, squashing and changing. Or at least calling AAA. Or this place. It's not that I despise women who can't do for self. I mean, hey who am I to knock your hustle? Your livelihood. But it does tend to irk. And annoy. And if Mint Julep was tellin ho's to sit down yesterday, well these type of chicks make me wanna yell, "ho, stand on your own two!"
Like for real. This independentphobe, (yes look it up, it's the antonym to commitmentphobe,) behavior is pretty hard to watch. A woman who always needs a man. And will take any man. A single man. A cute man. A chunky man with low self esteem. An old man with a pension. Yo man. Needs, begs, demands someone to help her with any and everything, including the seemingly simple things in life. And I wanna be like, "daggone it, if I had to master these tasks, you should learn how to as well!" I mean for the love of all that is righteous and holy, ladies can we please put our pennies together and open a vocational school, to teach these chicks that it's about time they learned how to take care of number one? Cause when it's all said and done, that's all you got. All that's promised from now until your last day. And then once that fundamental truth is taught, have them sign up to take other classes like:
1. I Get So Lonely: How to Live on Your Own and Enjoy It! A step-by-step guide on how to find your own place, pay your own rent, and then enjoy your own company.
2. Throw Your Hands Up At Me: Take Pride in Doing Things on Your Own!
3. I-n-d-e-p-e-n-d-e-n-t, Do You Know What That Mean Wo-man? Learn How To Be With These 5 Easy Steps!
4. I Am Woman Hear Me Roar: Learning How to Read the Instructions and then Put Together Your Own Furniture! - A Hands On Class
5. At Your Best: You are Love(ly) On Your Own.
That's my time y'all! Happy Rum Punch Friay!
However, throughout the film, it would appear that Ms. Kerry can do nothing for herself. She is helpless, hapless and from where I sit pretty much useless. She can't get a job on her own and asks him to be reference. Forget the fact that they haven't seen each other in years. Or that it was for a basic hostess position. She can't move out her ex-boyfriend's apartment by herself and asks Chris to accompany her on a quick trip from NYC to DC. More drama happens. She can't find a place that she's going to have to live in by herself, on her own. She doesn't know how to spend her days by herself and makes drive by visits to his office to pass the time or get taken to lunch.While the underlying reason for all this is because she's a lil huzzy who is playing the 'let's see how long it takes to get him to fcuk me' game, let's focus on her lack of want or desire to do for self.
Now while I try to shun all labels, unless they come on purses or shoes, I do like to think that I'm a relatively independent Black woman. Not on some, "I don't need no man, I can do bad all by myself" type mess. But also not on some, "I have always depended on the kindness of strangers," type craziness either. But falling somewhere in between. I will ask a male friend to move that heavy couch, kill that bug, or change that flat tire. But if ain't none available, and it's just me and the ladies, I guess we better get to lifting, squashing and changing. Or at least calling AAA. Or this place. It's not that I despise women who can't do for self. I mean, hey who am I to knock your hustle? Your livelihood. But it does tend to irk. And annoy. And if Mint Julep was tellin ho's to sit down yesterday, well these type of chicks make me wanna yell, "ho, stand on your own two!"
Like for real. This independentphobe, (yes look it up, it's the antonym to commitmentphobe,) behavior is pretty hard to watch. A woman who always needs a man. And will take any man. A single man. A cute man. A chunky man with low self esteem. An old man with a pension. Yo man. Needs, begs, demands someone to help her with any and everything, including the seemingly simple things in life. And I wanna be like, "daggone it, if I had to master these tasks, you should learn how to as well!" I mean for the love of all that is righteous and holy, ladies can we please put our pennies together and open a vocational school, to teach these chicks that it's about time they learned how to take care of number one? Cause when it's all said and done, that's all you got. All that's promised from now until your last day. And then once that fundamental truth is taught, have them sign up to take other classes like:
1. I Get So Lonely: How to Live on Your Own and Enjoy It! A step-by-step guide on how to find your own place, pay your own rent, and then enjoy your own company.
2. Throw Your Hands Up At Me: Take Pride in Doing Things on Your Own!
3. I-n-d-e-p-e-n-d-e-n-t, Do You Know What That Mean Wo-man? Learn How To Be With These 5 Easy Steps!
4. I Am Woman Hear Me Roar: Learning How to Read the Instructions and then Put Together Your Own Furniture! - A Hands On Class
5. At Your Best: You are Love(ly) On Your Own.
That's my time y'all! Happy Rum Punch Friay!
Friday, May 15, 2009
Don't Make Me Go There
A few months ago, my associate pastor preached a sermon by this title. The message was two fold and excuse me for not having the accompanying scripture*, but follow me anyway. And please know that I’m interpreting the sermon for how it works for me, in my head, in my life. She doesn’t actually cuss from the pulpit.
So, first she talked about the usage of the often uttered saying – Don’t make me go there. What it has come to mean nowadays. That it’s when someone has pushed you to the brink, to the edge, and is about to take you, well, there. To that ‘no this mothafcuka didn’t’, contemplating violence all day long, til you’re forced to leave work early cause you got to handle something, calling the homies, doing drive bys, bout to take off your earrings and get you some Vaseline, way down in the murk and mire place.
You don’t want anyone to ever take you there cause if they do it will be ugly. And unladylike. And seemingly out of character. And perhaps a wee bit violent. And just, overall, won’t end well for anyone involved. And so you fire off warning shots to the wrong doer with these five words: DON’TMAKE MEGOTHERE! This is the clean version of you better back the fcuk up. Get outta my space. Don’t come for me. Check yo'self before you wreck yo'self. Leave me the hell alone. Give me 50 feet or I will kick yo’ ass. For real. DON’TMAKEMEGOTHERE!
But then she flipped it and said that don’tmakemegothere is when God is trying to move you to another place. A healthier place. A better place. And because of fear. Uncertainty. Doubt. Lack of faith. You say: don’tmakemegothere. Don’t move me out of this comfortable spot. Don’t challenge me. Don’t send me in a new direction. Don’t have me try to reach my full potential. I am afraid. I am not ready. I am not sure I can handle it. don’tmakemegothere. [End of synopsis of pastor’s sermon]
[Beginning of Rum Punch breaking it down and applying it to real life sit’chuations]
But God moves you anyway. Picks you up kicking and screaming. Crying and fighting. Bitching and moaning. Pouting and fussing. Drops you off. And waits. For you to fcuk up. Call that nygga back. Walk away from it all. Curse the world. Sleep with him again. Leave it unfinished. Live beneath your station. Settle. Get complacent. Struggle. Question. Lose faith. Regain. And then finally understand that God means this move. This change. This growth. This different direction. This new experience for good.
Funny how your DON’TMAKEMEGOTHERE! and don’tmakemegothere moments tend to intersect. Usually on what seems like the most terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day, when this just can’t be life, when you fittin' to set it off in this mothafcuka cause someone done lost they mind up in here, up in here and is trying you, pushing you there - you get taken to another level.
You get a tap on the shoulder. A whisper in the ear. A hard shake from the powers above, reminding you that you’re better than this. You’re too cute for this.** You’re more than this setback. And that this moment does not and will not define you. So you might as well start packing your bags and filling out change of address cards. Cause you’re about to be moved again. Over there.
Over to another place where you are given the strength to take a road higher than you could have ever imagined. A place where you: Forgive. Resist resorting to violence or cuss words. Face fears. Quote scripture. Laugh. Walk away. Relax, relate, release. Leave it where it be. Let it go. Praise through the pain. Start all over again. Pray. Remind your own self that this is just a test. Move on. Shake that load off. Keep going. Know that tomorrow is another day. That this too shall pass. And what doesn’t kill you will only make you stronger.
And other clichés. But it’s these clichés that give you comfort because you know their truth. Cause you’ve been to the edge of there before. Past there, even. And everywhere in between. And you always make it back safely.
That’s my time y’all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!
* I do believe that she was preaching from Jonah, though
** Shouts out to Courvoisier! ;-)
** Shouts out to Courvoisier! ;-)
Friday, March 20, 2009
Mamas Don't Let Your Daughters Grow Up to be Fools
What’s up party people? Let’s have some fun today, shall we? We shall! So, below I have text messages exchanged between a married man and a married woman – with some Rum Punch commentary sprinkled in. And here we gooo…
Woman: Do you love me? Is she really serious with this? Yes, she is. Let's remember that they're both married. M'mkay? M''mkay!
Man: Yes. You want me to count the ways? Oh, I love you 5 ways. Just counted. Hmmm… That’s it?
Woman: Do you love me? Is she really serious with this? Yes, she is. Let's remember that they're both married. M'mkay? M''mkay!
Man: Yes. You want me to count the ways? Oh, I love you 5 ways. Just counted. Hmmm… That’s it?
Woman: LOLOL! THAT’S ALL?! My question, exactly. LOL. What are they, maybe they cover the whole thing. Because I have at least 10 ways. Ok, she’s pressed…
Man: THANX FOR BEING MY GIRL! I WISH I COULD ARTICULATE WHAT THAT MEANS TO ME. GOODNIGHT SOULMATE! Oh ok. So y’all are soul mates now? What about your respective spouses?
Woman: ALLLL. I know you know it, but I’ll always be your girl, whatever it means to you! Yes, what does that mean, seeing as how y’all are both, must I really repeat it again, married!
Man: What did you think I mean when I say G doesn’t fit anymore?
Woman: I thought you meant that we are wayyy past the girlfriend stage and that I mean way more to you than a girlfriend. Was I wrong? How can you be way past a girlfriend stage? I’m not understanding! Are there levels or stages to an affair - just fcuking, mistress, girlfriend, I promise you will one day be wifey?
Man: NOPE! 2 MUCH FOR 2WAY THOUGH. Hmmm... You think?
Woman: NO QUESTION. I thought about writing you a letter last night, but it would have been way too long and I figured a bit much. Write a letter? How old are you? 16 years old? What could you possibly say in a letter? How much you love him? How much you wanna be with him someday? You've said it. Many times. I think he gets it. Does he care though?
Man: THANX FOR BEING MY GIRL! I WISH I COULD ARTICULATE WHAT THAT MEANS TO ME. GOODNIGHT SOULMATE! Oh ok. So y’all are soul mates now? What about your respective spouses?
Woman: ALLLL. I know you know it, but I’ll always be your girl, whatever it means to you! Yes, what does that mean, seeing as how y’all are both, must I really repeat it again, married!
Man: What did you think I mean when I say G doesn’t fit anymore?
Woman: I thought you meant that we are wayyy past the girlfriend stage and that I mean way more to you than a girlfriend. Was I wrong? How can you be way past a girlfriend stage? I’m not understanding! Are there levels or stages to an affair - just fcuking, mistress, girlfriend, I promise you will one day be wifey?
Man: NOPE! 2 MUCH FOR 2WAY THOUGH. Hmmm... You think?
Woman: NO QUESTION. I thought about writing you a letter last night, but it would have been way too long and I figured a bit much. Write a letter? How old are you? 16 years old? What could you possibly say in a letter? How much you love him? How much you wanna be with him someday? You've said it. Many times. I think he gets it. Does he care though?
Woman: Do I make you uncomfortable when I talk about you in the future sense? I mean about thinking about if we will ever really be together? Yes, I would think that this kind of talk would make any man who is clearly not trying to leave his wife, very uncomfortable.
Man: NOT AT ALL! I just don’t want you to be “miserable” at home because of future expectations. I just don’t want you to make a Bad Decision, whatever it is, because of me. Well, she's already having an affair. So what other bad decisions could she make? Oh many more, we will soon find out...
Woman: Ok, just wanted to ask. I'm real sure of the look in your eyes when you hear me talk about that. I’m trying to figure out if you’re looking at me like I’m right or you haven’t quite figured it out yet. Can I ask one more question, what does it do? Do you think about that seriously ever?
Man: Yes. I think about it seriously a lot. Talk Wednesday! (high voice) Talk Wednesday?!? Yeah right. I'm sooo sure, y'all are going to have a real conversation on Wednesday and you're not gonna just "string" her along some more...
Man: 2012 IS REAL FAR AWAY! You Are SOOOO WORTH THE WAIT! Ok, so the year of these messages is 2003. Are you trying to say that you are really going to leave your wife in 9 years for her? So, she's supposed to what – just hang around and wait?
Woman: LOLOL. Thanks! So are you! I just have to figure out what to do with myself in the meantime to not go crazy thinking about you! LOL. Oh this is what she's s going to do in the meantime! I see now!
Man: DITTO! Yes, I'm sure you're just going INSANE thinking about her!
Woman: Will you marry me? Is this chick crazy? Isn’t she already married? And why is she asking him? I mean I'm just saying - I know this is all kinds of wrong - but shouldn't the man be the one to make the first move to leave the spouse? I'm just saying, that seems like proper 'adultery' etiquette.
Man: YES. When? Ok. Stop your lies. You ain’t marrying her!
Woman: I don’t know when, all I know is that I want to be your wife! I want you to be my husband. So whenever our lives permit, just say you’ll marry me. Um ok. Delusion is a mothfcuka.
Man: YES. YES. YES. I REALLY KNEW I WOULD Be WITH You SINCE 12TH GRADE.JUST A MATTER OF TIME. And yet, 15+ years later, after high school, college and graduate school, y'all married other people and had kids. So... When are y'all getting married? In the nursing home perhaps?
Woman: I will wait on it! Love you. Ok this is making my head hurt. Really hurt.
Woman: I just feel something from you. Do you need me to and want me to really commit to being your “friend?” Do you feel troubled at the thought of our physical relationship resuming? Are you keeping yourself from being emotionally involved? Tee hee. Tee hee. Oh Lordy...
Man: I DO BELIEVE WE MUST STOP THE PHYSICAL. BUT WE MUST KEEP, SOMEHOW, OUR CONNECTION. I MEAN THIS, I NEED THIS! I Don’t KNOW HOW. You KNOW ME VERY WELL. I can’t be YOUR FRIEND! IT’S IMPOSSIBLE. I can’t be YOUR HUSBAND. WHAT CAN I BE? That's what I've been asking this whole time! Clearly not a damn thing!
Woman: Your life force makes me whole and I know that without it, I am incomplete! Now, the problem is how much of each other that takes away from our SO’s. I don’t know what to do about that and stay whole! Say whaat?
Man: Well Ditto! It’s so damn hard and so damn good. It’s the absolute best and sometimes the worst. What is always constant is the fact that ILYSM! (I love you Soul mate) Again with this soul mate business, eh?
Woman: So what do we DO? I struggle with what’s fair to you and yours and me and mines everyday. I thought I knew what I should be doing until I caught a glimpse of you not being FULLY in my life and I panicked! I don’t know to let you be anything less than everything!
Man: Don’t know! You GOT to be who you are in my life. What the hell? Clearly, you are her life. So, what do you want from her? What do you want? Oh I know what you want...
Woman: Can I ask you a question? What do you get from your wife that you don’t get from me? Oh shyt. Here it comes.
Man: The tremendous bond of parenthood. My kids’ mama. The birth experiences and the dreams for our children.
Woman: Is that it? Isn't that enough? Oh you want more? Ok here it go...
Man: That’s it. I was thinking real hard. It’s ALL the Family thing. Structure and comfort And there it is ladies. That is the reason his ass ain’t going nowhere. And yet…
Woman: I MISS YOU SO MUCH!!!
Man: Miss you too! You are truly my Lady! Forever! Can’t get you out and don’t want you out of my system. You COMPLETE ME! Oh my goodness! I can't take it anymore! It's like a vicious cycle of craziness! I love you! I can't be with you! We must end this! But we're soul mates! But we can't be together! So what shall we do? Oh the fun! The drama! The danger of it all! Saracasm included...
Woman: I don’t know when, all I know is that I want to be your wife! I want you to be my husband. So whenever our lives permit, just say you’ll marry me. Um ok. Delusion is a mothfcuka.
Man: YES. YES. YES. I REALLY KNEW I WOULD Be WITH You SINCE 12TH GRADE.JUST A MATTER OF TIME. And yet, 15+ years later, after high school, college and graduate school, y'all married other people and had kids. So... When are y'all getting married? In the nursing home perhaps?
Woman: I will wait on it! Love you. Ok this is making my head hurt. Really hurt.
Woman: I just feel something from you. Do you need me to and want me to really commit to being your “friend?” Do you feel troubled at the thought of our physical relationship resuming? Are you keeping yourself from being emotionally involved? Tee hee. Tee hee. Oh Lordy...
Man: I DO BELIEVE WE MUST STOP THE PHYSICAL. BUT WE MUST KEEP, SOMEHOW, OUR CONNECTION. I MEAN THIS, I NEED THIS! I Don’t KNOW HOW. You KNOW ME VERY WELL. I can’t be YOUR FRIEND! IT’S IMPOSSIBLE. I can’t be YOUR HUSBAND. WHAT CAN I BE? That's what I've been asking this whole time! Clearly not a damn thing!
Woman: Your life force makes me whole and I know that without it, I am incomplete! Now, the problem is how much of each other that takes away from our SO’s. I don’t know what to do about that and stay whole! Say whaat?
Man: Well Ditto! It’s so damn hard and so damn good. It’s the absolute best and sometimes the worst. What is always constant is the fact that ILYSM! (I love you Soul mate) Again with this soul mate business, eh?
Woman: So what do we DO? I struggle with what’s fair to you and yours and me and mines everyday. I thought I knew what I should be doing until I caught a glimpse of you not being FULLY in my life and I panicked! I don’t know to let you be anything less than everything!
Man: Don’t know! You GOT to be who you are in my life. What the hell? Clearly, you are her life. So, what do you want from her? What do you want? Oh I know what you want...
Woman: Can I ask you a question? What do you get from your wife that you don’t get from me? Oh shyt. Here it comes.
Man: The tremendous bond of parenthood. My kids’ mama. The birth experiences and the dreams for our children.
Woman: Is that it? Isn't that enough? Oh you want more? Ok here it go...
Man: That’s it. I was thinking real hard. It’s ALL the Family thing. Structure and comfort And there it is ladies. That is the reason his ass ain’t going nowhere. And yet…
Woman: I MISS YOU SO MUCH!!!
Man: Miss you too! You are truly my Lady! Forever! Can’t get you out and don’t want you out of my system. You COMPLETE ME! Oh my goodness! I can't take it anymore! It's like a vicious cycle of craziness! I love you! I can't be with you! We must end this! But we're soul mates! But we can't be together! So what shall we do? Oh the fun! The drama! The danger of it all! Saracasm included...
So, in case you couldn't tell, these are the two way exchanges between the one and only, former mayor of Detorit, Kwame Kilpatrick and his "soul mate" Christine Beatty. Recently, over 6,000 messages have been released to the public and I spent the last couple days of my life reading several. Yes, it got to the point that I came upstairs, asking my dad, "Who taught me how to read?" I mean really, who taught me how to read? Because this was too much!
When the messages were first released, we (the public) got a lot of the nasty messages - the I want to give you head, blah, blah, blah. But after reading these other ones I realized it was so much more than just the physical. It was a combination of two people who had a history together (they dated in high school), holding on to that puppy love feeling, getting off on the sneaking around, him talking what I think is a bunch of shyt, and her being simple for believing everything he said.
Yes, in my mind she was simple. Not saying that he was any better. But I am saying, at some point, she should have stepped back and seen the reality of the situation. And I want to slap her a million times over. And then him. And I want to look her in the eye and be like, "um how crazy are you? Why were you even wasting your time? Couldn't you see?"
But I guess all she saw was love. I mean he kept saying it. Was "showing" it - taking her on trips, buying her gifts, telling her that someday the mayoral mansion might be hers (as if). Seemed conflicted by it. And they had all that history. And as someone who wrote this, I know that first love is hard to shake. But damn, sometimes you just gotta let some shyt go. Both of y'all. Live off the memories, please don't try to recreate. Because y'all is grown now - like real grown, with your own lives, families, responsibilities (mayor of Detroit anyone), mortgages and shyt. But maybe that was too normal. Too regular. Too boring. Too everyday. And so how about "rekindling" our love and affection? Doesn't that sound like a great plan?
To me, this situation is a perfect blend of Bellini and Mint Julep's posts from this week - the selfishness of being in "love" with two people and refusing to choose, the fact that technology is a mothafkuca and can come back to bite you in the ass, the reality that relationships are a difficult thing, that trust is a four letter word.... And that men ain't shyt but hoes and tricks. Ok, like Mint Julep, I kid. Sort of. But I think that most of us know that a man will take advantage of a situation if we allow it. And so women must know their power. Apply common sense when necessary. Take an obviously undesirable situation at face value instead of analyzing it, picking it apart, re-writing it to fit into a fantasy. Stop being foolish and be wise enough to know what really is, what ain't and what will never be.
That's my time y'all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!
Friday, November 28, 2008
Bust the Driver Side Window Out Your Car
So I wake up this morning to my brother's deep voice saying, "Rum Punch, your car was broken into. The police left a note on your windshield." I go outside and what do I see? Broken glass everywhere! On the driver's side! Fcuk! On the day after Thanksgiving? OK what does that have to do with anything? Nothing. But still, fcuk! Did they take anything? No, because there was nothing to take. They just rummaged through the glove compartment and other compartments in the car. And found nothing of course. This is the second time this has happened in my lifetime. It's annoying. It's violating. And now I gotta go call some glass people. So peace up, A town down, I'll be back next week with something deep and thought provoking. That's my time y'all! Happy Rum Punch Friday!
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
Please Save the Children
It’s summertime and the living is easy! The fish are jumping…and the cotton is high! I so looooved summertime in my youth. As I sit in my cubicle I allow my mind to wonder back to the swimming, the cookouts, ice cream cones and no school and it makes me smile, and helps the day to go by much faster. There was something very heavenly about that vacation time *Sing angelic chorus! Sing!* Kids chant no more school, no more books, no more teacher’s dirty looks while parents ask themselves what they are going to do about the children. What does one do with little ones who aren’t old or wise enough to be latchkey kids, grandma’s got her own life to live and well you ain’t trying to break the bank to pay some woman in a trailer to watch them. Well the answer becomes quite simple really, you pawn them off on whomever you can!
And so begins my tale...
I rent a room from a lady I’ve know for about thirteen years. Now this familiarity allows my mom to worry less and the arrangement works quite well for landlady and me. We’re like two ships passing in the night, on our way to our respective jobs. Landlady cleans the common areas and sometimes she makes me eat food she’s prepared. Hello? Can we say win, win? Yes we can! So a couple weeks back, during one of those free meals she cooked up, she informed me that her niece (12) and nephew (9) would be hanging out in our home for a few days in this summer because their mama and their papa were busy working. Well what could I say, like I said I rent a room, I ain’t on no deed, and since I knew these children I wasn’t stressing…
But how many of ya’ll know that the devil comes in many forms!
When I came back from Atlanta the house was like I had never seen it before! There were pillows on the floor, dishes piled in the sink, an odor, and food on the table. It was like an open invitation for roaches to come do the Cupid Shuffle on the table. Seriously! Please come go with me ya’ll back to the Color Purple when Celie walks into Mister’s kitchen for the first time and the walls were black! Ya’ll remember that? And so for a nano second I was like let me braid my hair and get my bucket and get to scrubbing. You know, help the folks out and such, but then I was like f-it I’m just going into to my room. And so I did and closed my door.
Peace and serenity.
There have been a few times when I came home early from work (quite unexpectedly I might add) and found the children home alone. TV blasting. Kitchen and bathroom nasty. And them doing unspeakable things with toast and chewing gum. So I told them to let me know if something caught on fire, otherwise I’d be in my room. And I closed my door.
Safe and secure from all alarms.
And then it happened. It was a few Sundays ago. I didn’t get myself together in time to go to church, so I was just piddling in my room. I had showered and dressed and was about to go to somebody’s cookout. The house was quiet and I was enjoying just taking my leisurely time, enjoying my day. I was standing in the mirror applying lip gloss when suddenly my door opened! And then I saw the head of both the niece and the nephew, wide-eyed and mouth agape. Immediately when the saw me they apologized and closed my door. WTF?
But in those few moments I had already decided to kill them… slowly. Softly. Maybe with a pillow. Or maybe with a knife. Heh.
I mean really! Why didn’t they knock? What if I had been naked? Why are they opening my door? And the fact that they apologized means that they knew better! Is this how things go down when I’m not home? Do I need to lock up my good…um. Well still, had I not been there, would they have gone through my things?
Sadly, the shock of their violation prevented me from ripping them a new one right then on the spot. And the fact that sometimes I forget I am an adult and can reprimand a child for their ignorant and naughty behavior if the situation requires it. But I will say this, if they so much as look at my door or are tempted to even touch the knob, oh heaven help the child! I can’t wait for school to start again! It’s summertime, and the living is supposed to be easy. But my patience is thin ya'll...and I want revenge. I can’t be catching no case over some ignorant devil touched children! I’m too cute to be tossing salads in prison!
See You in Seven
And so begins my tale...
I rent a room from a lady I’ve know for about thirteen years. Now this familiarity allows my mom to worry less and the arrangement works quite well for landlady and me. We’re like two ships passing in the night, on our way to our respective jobs. Landlady cleans the common areas and sometimes she makes me eat food she’s prepared. Hello? Can we say win, win? Yes we can! So a couple weeks back, during one of those free meals she cooked up, she informed me that her niece (12) and nephew (9) would be hanging out in our home for a few days in this summer because their mama and their papa were busy working. Well what could I say, like I said I rent a room, I ain’t on no deed, and since I knew these children I wasn’t stressing…
But how many of ya’ll know that the devil comes in many forms!
When I came back from Atlanta the house was like I had never seen it before! There were pillows on the floor, dishes piled in the sink, an odor, and food on the table. It was like an open invitation for roaches to come do the Cupid Shuffle on the table. Seriously! Please come go with me ya’ll back to the Color Purple when Celie walks into Mister’s kitchen for the first time and the walls were black! Ya’ll remember that? And so for a nano second I was like let me braid my hair and get my bucket and get to scrubbing. You know, help the folks out and such, but then I was like f-it I’m just going into to my room. And so I did and closed my door.
Peace and serenity.
There have been a few times when I came home early from work (quite unexpectedly I might add) and found the children home alone. TV blasting. Kitchen and bathroom nasty. And them doing unspeakable things with toast and chewing gum. So I told them to let me know if something caught on fire, otherwise I’d be in my room. And I closed my door.
Safe and secure from all alarms.
And then it happened. It was a few Sundays ago. I didn’t get myself together in time to go to church, so I was just piddling in my room. I had showered and dressed and was about to go to somebody’s cookout. The house was quiet and I was enjoying just taking my leisurely time, enjoying my day. I was standing in the mirror applying lip gloss when suddenly my door opened! And then I saw the head of both the niece and the nephew, wide-eyed and mouth agape. Immediately when the saw me they apologized and closed my door. WTF?
But in those few moments I had already decided to kill them… slowly. Softly. Maybe with a pillow. Or maybe with a knife. Heh.
I mean really! Why didn’t they knock? What if I had been naked? Why are they opening my door? And the fact that they apologized means that they knew better! Is this how things go down when I’m not home? Do I need to lock up my good…um. Well still, had I not been there, would they have gone through my things?
Sadly, the shock of their violation prevented me from ripping them a new one right then on the spot. And the fact that sometimes I forget I am an adult and can reprimand a child for their ignorant and naughty behavior if the situation requires it. But I will say this, if they so much as look at my door or are tempted to even touch the knob, oh heaven help the child! I can’t wait for school to start again! It’s summertime, and the living is supposed to be easy. But my patience is thin ya'll...and I want revenge. I can’t be catching no case over some ignorant devil touched children! I’m too cute to be tossing salads in prison!
See You in Seven
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Stupid Is as Stupid Does
There are a lot of things that have shocked me about this adulthood thing. Like how much stuff costs-especially toilet paper! And subsequently how soon you have to change that roll. Now I totally understand why it’s often difficult to get more than one square of paper in a public bathroom! And after being conditioned to about 15 weeks of vacation thanks to my schoolin’, now the expectation is that I work through the summer and I beg for time off during that week between Christmas and New Years because someone needs to be in the office?! Oh, it’s hard ya’ll. So until senility kicks in and I can’t really remember my youth, I’m learning to cope with some of these aspects of being a girl in a grown up world. But what has shocked me the most has been how many stupid people have made it pass go and have been allowed to roam around in the same world with me! Where did all these idiots come from?!
Now I’m not talking about people who occasionally say or do stupid things. I mean I for one have called that dude I wasn’t supposed to and paid handsomely for it later (read: STUPID). But I’m talking about these people I work with and people I just happen to encounter that really can’t put 1 and 1 together to get any kind of sense, common or otherwise. Well…let me correct that, they get nonsense quite well. And it’s the nonsense that I can’t tolerate living with. I’m thinking that it would be nice if all the stupid folks could get together in a centralized location and meet and stay there…forever.
Am I being too radical? Hmmmmm. Maybe.
My mom is a property manager for public housing. Oh the stories that she tells about her residents…truly there is a different moral compass in Section 8 communities. Yesterday, Mom told me how she took one of her resident’s daughter to the doctor to treat a cough that would clear up for a time and then return. Now you might be thinking, why oh why was your mom taking this child to the doctor…well I’ll tell you. It’s because her mother is a stupid person! And the reason her mother is stupid is because her daughter (who is sixteen and a straight A student) spoke out against a man who was living in their house and beating on them…her mom included. So when it came down to choosing between “her man” and her child…mom dukes told the girl she needed to find another place to stay. Why? Short answer…because she’s stupid! But long answer was that she’s never been without a man, and well she wasn’t about to start that day. Lawd! Seriously? And so on the way to the doctor's office yesterday this young lady told my mom that she would hang out at friend’s house until late at night and then sleep in the neighborhood park. For three months this occurred! I mean there are just too many stupid people, slash so-called adults who should have been aware that this child was sleeping outside. Turns out this child has a serious thyroid condition and my mom and a social worker had to move hell and high water just to get the mother to sign consent papers to allow for them to take her daughter to treatment. This mother had a stank attitude about it too! What. The. Hell? How can a mother keep her life moving for three months without concern about where her child was? Why wasn’t this mother thankful that people were willing to step in and help when she didn’t feel like being bothered? This was just too asinine for me to understand.
Now I’m not talking about people who occasionally say or do stupid things. I mean I for one have called that dude I wasn’t supposed to and paid handsomely for it later (read: STUPID). But I’m talking about these people I work with and people I just happen to encounter that really can’t put 1 and 1 together to get any kind of sense, common or otherwise. Well…let me correct that, they get nonsense quite well. And it’s the nonsense that I can’t tolerate living with. I’m thinking that it would be nice if all the stupid folks could get together in a centralized location and meet and stay there…forever.
Am I being too radical? Hmmmmm. Maybe.
My mom is a property manager for public housing. Oh the stories that she tells about her residents…truly there is a different moral compass in Section 8 communities. Yesterday, Mom told me how she took one of her resident’s daughter to the doctor to treat a cough that would clear up for a time and then return. Now you might be thinking, why oh why was your mom taking this child to the doctor…well I’ll tell you. It’s because her mother is a stupid person! And the reason her mother is stupid is because her daughter (who is sixteen and a straight A student) spoke out against a man who was living in their house and beating on them…her mom included. So when it came down to choosing between “her man” and her child…mom dukes told the girl she needed to find another place to stay. Why? Short answer…because she’s stupid! But long answer was that she’s never been without a man, and well she wasn’t about to start that day. Lawd! Seriously? And so on the way to the doctor's office yesterday this young lady told my mom that she would hang out at friend’s house until late at night and then sleep in the neighborhood park. For three months this occurred! I mean there are just too many stupid people, slash so-called adults who should have been aware that this child was sleeping outside. Turns out this child has a serious thyroid condition and my mom and a social worker had to move hell and high water just to get the mother to sign consent papers to allow for them to take her daughter to treatment. This mother had a stank attitude about it too! What. The. Hell? How can a mother keep her life moving for three months without concern about where her child was? Why wasn’t this mother thankful that people were willing to step in and help when she didn’t feel like being bothered? This was just too asinine for me to understand.
But people like this "mother" our out here, walking among us!
So I seriously propose (and maybe if Bracky becomes president he can help me with this) that all of the idiots who walk among us should be branded with scarlet DAs on their foreheads. Then we (the intelligent citizens of America) round them up (a la Bellini style) and let them live someplace together, maybe in middle America. We could just put them in a place where they can live their lives like they're golden. A place that we can stop by on the way to the Grand Canyon on our summer vacations with our children. And when we get there we can all laugh and point as stupid tries to outwit a box of rocks. Oh, how nice it would be in a safe place away from these people, to stand back, watch and wonder how stupid a person can actually be.
See You In Seven
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Something Wicked This Way Comes
As the three witches stood around their cauldron during the opening scene of Macbeth they sensed some of the things that were to befall Macbeth as the next king of Scotland. Sometimes I wish that there was a way that I could know before hand the things (specifically the bad evil ones) that would befall me, without say calling a psychic friend or paying to have my palm read…
“Hello, Ms. Cleo? Tell me my future. What? Why are you asking me what my name is, don’t you know? You’re the psychic!”
I mean, wouldn’t it just be nice to know on Monday morning instead of Friday afternoon that you are going to get fired? Or maybe if you had known that Pookie and ‘em were going to rob you could have made sure you got insurance for that 51” plasma. And how many would be baby mama drama free today if they had known before, that ole girl hadn’t been taken her birth control like she swore she had? Aaaah yes. Life would be a tad easier and breezier if we could know such things. But since we don’t, we get to have interesting stories to tell, and things to complain about.
And so without further ado, I will step on my soapbox to complain about the crappy service I received last night. I feel that had I known before hand that all the wait staff had been replaced with some of the seven dwarfs Grumpy, Dopey and Lazy and a few of their cousins, Stanky and Cranky I would not have dined there. I mean, waiters still work for tips right? It would behoove them the make me happy instead of have me wondering if I had offended them or dreaming about the good ole days when folks still gave a damn.
How many of ya’ll know that Ghettofication is just as rampant as gentrification? While gentrification believes it makes places safer by robbing the poor because the rich can afford the higher taxes and better schools. Ghettofication just makes you wonder what the hell? Ghettofication makes you question if the rules of professionalism decided to just throw up the deuces and rule. Ghettofication makes you wonder if decency was somehow changed to “I don’t give a fcuk” when you decided to patron the establishment.
Not sure if you have been a victim of Ghettofication? Here are some helpful ways to recognize it while dining out on the town…
Ghettofication means You Learn to Wait
My friend and I were seated near the back of the restaurant and had to wait at least 10 minutes to get a “’sup ya’ll” as the wait staff sniggled and giggled in about sex, drugs and rock-n-roll (read: why they love Lil Wayne’s Lollipop).
Ghettofication means You have to Become a Camel
Anyone who dines with me will know that I love soda, I like my glass full and bubbly. Meaning I have to be refilled regularly throughout the meal. Not just at the end when you bring the check.
Ghettofication means no one has to say "I’m Sorry"
So yeah, my friend and I ordered basic American fare (ie Hamburgers and French Fries). Things that came to our table included entrée salads and soup. When informing the waiter extraordinaire that this was not what I ordered. I was stared at, blankly, like I was inconveniencing them.
Ghettofication means that I’m getting something for free once I have it out with your manager! It also means I ain’t leaving no tip! I will not stand for this. I will not reinforce wicked behavior…Ghettofication is present in other places! It inhabits all sorts of people, some types more acutely! Beware!
*stepping off soapbox, smoothing out skirt, pulling back hair*
See You In Seven
“Hello, Ms. Cleo? Tell me my future. What? Why are you asking me what my name is, don’t you know? You’re the psychic!”
I mean, wouldn’t it just be nice to know on Monday morning instead of Friday afternoon that you are going to get fired? Or maybe if you had known that Pookie and ‘em were going to rob you could have made sure you got insurance for that 51” plasma. And how many would be baby mama drama free today if they had known before, that ole girl hadn’t been taken her birth control like she swore she had? Aaaah yes. Life would be a tad easier and breezier if we could know such things. But since we don’t, we get to have interesting stories to tell, and things to complain about.
And so without further ado, I will step on my soapbox to complain about the crappy service I received last night. I feel that had I known before hand that all the wait staff had been replaced with some of the seven dwarfs Grumpy, Dopey and Lazy and a few of their cousins, Stanky and Cranky I would not have dined there. I mean, waiters still work for tips right? It would behoove them the make me happy instead of have me wondering if I had offended them or dreaming about the good ole days when folks still gave a damn.
How many of ya’ll know that Ghettofication is just as rampant as gentrification? While gentrification believes it makes places safer by robbing the poor because the rich can afford the higher taxes and better schools. Ghettofication just makes you wonder what the hell? Ghettofication makes you question if the rules of professionalism decided to just throw up the deuces and rule. Ghettofication makes you wonder if decency was somehow changed to “I don’t give a fcuk” when you decided to patron the establishment.
Not sure if you have been a victim of Ghettofication? Here are some helpful ways to recognize it while dining out on the town…
Ghettofication means You Learn to Wait
My friend and I were seated near the back of the restaurant and had to wait at least 10 minutes to get a “’sup ya’ll” as the wait staff sniggled and giggled in about sex, drugs and rock-n-roll (read: why they love Lil Wayne’s Lollipop).
Ghettofication means You have to Become a Camel
Anyone who dines with me will know that I love soda, I like my glass full and bubbly. Meaning I have to be refilled regularly throughout the meal. Not just at the end when you bring the check.
Ghettofication means no one has to say "I’m Sorry"
So yeah, my friend and I ordered basic American fare (ie Hamburgers and French Fries). Things that came to our table included entrée salads and soup. When informing the waiter extraordinaire that this was not what I ordered. I was stared at, blankly, like I was inconveniencing them.
Ghettofication means that I’m getting something for free once I have it out with your manager! It also means I ain’t leaving no tip! I will not stand for this. I will not reinforce wicked behavior…Ghettofication is present in other places! It inhabits all sorts of people, some types more acutely! Beware!
*stepping off soapbox, smoothing out skirt, pulling back hair*
See You In Seven
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Building a Universe
There are quite a few things in this life that I just don't understand. As a young girl sitting one summer in my grandparents' kitchen, waiting for some homemade sweet tea and a tuna fish sandwich, my Grandma told me that I could build a universe with all the things I did not know. I mean she was right, obviously, but it seemed like such a harsh thing to say to a little girl who just wanted to know why granny took so many pills before breakfast? Or why grandpa fell alseep while watching tv, or why did the caged bird sing...
But in the spirit of I don't know what to write, taxes, and annoying yet inquisitive children, I feel the need to share some of the things that I just don't understand.
Numero Uno: Did Bracky forget he's running for President of the United States and not just the in the intellectual meccas of the east and west coasts? Is it wrong to say he shot himself in the foot, maybe with the rifle of a bitter middle American? I think they (Hills, Gramps and the media) are going to ride this faux pas hard like how a man just out of jail makes love. I'm just hopin' Bracky can change all of this. Maybe with his hand gestures and a smile. Or maybe with a story about how his po' unbitter mother would tell him how much she loved God while polishing off her rifle.
Letter B: Why am I seeing Hillary Rodham Clinton drinking pints of Guinness with the masses? Is it because she's a woman of the people? I guess the Rodhams are notorious for having a good 'ole time after coming home from the factory? Show 'em girl! You ain't an elitist like Bracky! Ha!
Three: Why is everyone going Pope crazy? Granted I'm not Catholic, so maybe I don't understand. But there are T-shirts and bobbleheads for this man. Jesus anyone? No. Okay then.
Little D: Mariah Carey's kind of scary (c) Biggie And I don't know why. Touch My Body? I mean I'll probably start liking the song in a couple of weeks. But what happened to her? I'm not saying that she has to go back to her Tommy M., curly hair, black bodysuit and high waisted mom jeans... "Someday, oooo someday..." But I think that Butterfly was a happy medium album. Pre boob job and the emotional breakdown of Mimi...
This was my jam!
And I don't understand why. Maybe it was Bone Thugs! Oh Krazyie Bone how I loved thee! Next time I'm in Cleveland dude *wink*! Maybe its because compared to some music today this is darn great! Or maybe its just one of those things not meant to be understood, just a part of this here universe, and therefore should just be enjoyed...
See You in Seven
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
A Declaration of Independence
I never thought that I would be one of those women who, through hail and high water stuck around and hung on because one day, some day it was all going get better. I never pictured myself as that woman who would hope in despair that a change was gonna come, maybe not today, or even tomorrow…but soon. Yet here I am, eight years later realizing that I am more house than field because it’s easier to put up and shut up than it is to get up and walk out.
I stay because I can’t afford my own freedom. It’s like just as soon as I get enough together, be it money or might, there’s always another requirement that I’m being informed of. Or as Nas said it, “its like they playing with 54 and all I got is 52”
*Sigh* At this point, it will take an act of God-
“I’ve been ‘buked and I’ve been scorned…”
So maybe I’m being a tad dramatic. I’m not a slave and I’m not a woman trapped in a loveless relationship; but damn Sprint! Free me from my contract! They are getting all Bally’s Totally Fitness on a girl, like I have to die in order to not be in breach and be free from these people. And don’t try to get all bold and brazen like I did in my youth and not pay ‘em... What?! It like’s like a boyfriend on the dow low, the next thing you know you (or in my case, my credit) is diseased!
But like I said I’ve been with Sprint for eight years, meaning that there were at least 3 times I could have walked away. But they kept enticing me with discounts on new shiny phones with the latest and greatest bells and whistles. And so a couple weeks ago I fell again, for a sleek little phone with a camera, television and music player-all upgrades from what I previously had. Once I held the phone in my hand I was in love instantly. I didn’t mind committing the next two years of my life and a couple hundred dollars to a company that I have been with for so long. I was happy. I was content. I was gooey inside.
Until Sprint started acting like it’s usual ‘ole conniving self. I swore they had changed, and had new hope for our relationship. But when I tried to watch television on my new and improved phone, all I saw was black; and my reflected WTF face in the LCD. Oh yes! Sprint wants me to give them 70 bucks a month just to use my own damn phone if I want to do more than calling people. The nerve! Fool me once shame on you, but fool me twice…well at this point I am covered in shame. Are they serious? 70 bucks a month in a recession? Please! I bet Verizon wouldn’t do me like this!
Hell no I ain’t payin’! Hell no I ain’t… Hell no… Damnit Sprint! I’m just giving you two more years and I’m out! You hear me?! I’m packing my bags and going to my momma’s. Imma pay your 70 dollars, but I ain’t going through this with you again! I’d get a Trak phone first!
See You In Seven
I stay because I can’t afford my own freedom. It’s like just as soon as I get enough together, be it money or might, there’s always another requirement that I’m being informed of. Or as Nas said it, “its like they playing with 54 and all I got is 52”
*Sigh* At this point, it will take an act of God-
“I’ve been ‘buked and I’ve been scorned…”
So maybe I’m being a tad dramatic. I’m not a slave and I’m not a woman trapped in a loveless relationship; but damn Sprint! Free me from my contract! They are getting all Bally’s Totally Fitness on a girl, like I have to die in order to not be in breach and be free from these people. And don’t try to get all bold and brazen like I did in my youth and not pay ‘em... What?! It like’s like a boyfriend on the dow low, the next thing you know you (or in my case, my credit) is diseased!
But like I said I’ve been with Sprint for eight years, meaning that there were at least 3 times I could have walked away. But they kept enticing me with discounts on new shiny phones with the latest and greatest bells and whistles. And so a couple weeks ago I fell again, for a sleek little phone with a camera, television and music player-all upgrades from what I previously had. Once I held the phone in my hand I was in love instantly. I didn’t mind committing the next two years of my life and a couple hundred dollars to a company that I have been with for so long. I was happy. I was content. I was gooey inside.
Until Sprint started acting like it’s usual ‘ole conniving self. I swore they had changed, and had new hope for our relationship. But when I tried to watch television on my new and improved phone, all I saw was black; and my reflected WTF face in the LCD. Oh yes! Sprint wants me to give them 70 bucks a month just to use my own damn phone if I want to do more than calling people. The nerve! Fool me once shame on you, but fool me twice…well at this point I am covered in shame. Are they serious? 70 bucks a month in a recession? Please! I bet Verizon wouldn’t do me like this!
Hell no I ain’t payin’! Hell no I ain’t… Hell no… Damnit Sprint! I’m just giving you two more years and I’m out! You hear me?! I’m packing my bags and going to my momma’s. Imma pay your 70 dollars, but I ain’t going through this with you again! I’d get a Trak phone first!
See You In Seven
Thursday, February 28, 2008
file this under hell in a handbasket
so i'm starting a new "series" so to speak. cause i often come across such nonsense, schenanigans, and general foolywang material (c) ybf and as rum punch knows, my response is usually hell in a handbasket. hence a virtual drawer in my corner of the view from here file cabinet called "Hell in a Handbasket" meaning that whatever follows is just so crazy, so ri-damn-diculous that those engaged in the activity are surely on their way....
exhibit A: why lawd why! hat tip to sandrarose for the inspiration. i mean really do kids have nothing better to do after school. and don't tell me they are expressing their creativity through interpretive dance. booo double booo.
*warning* some would consider this NSFW altho no clothes come off...
---> video removed by poster for fear of lawsuit<---
at least she had the good sense to say cut after almost 3 minutes of pure D craziness...
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
I Hear Ya, Stevie!
Today, as I was navigating through the Metro system to get to the good old job I heard the lovely musings of some youth…
"You a stupid MothaF-cka! You know that?! You’s a stupid, ugly Motha f-cka!"
"So, you ain’t S—t! B-tch!"
Oh it was a great way to start my day ya’ll. I was so proud of them!
First of all I’m already pissed that there aren’t any more three day weekends until Memorial Day (though I will be taking my Easter Monday). But I just wasn’t trying to hear that sh-t first thing in the morning before I would have to deal with the Motha Fcukas in my office.
Now I will be the first to admit, I am a reformed and still recovering Cussaholic. I spoke real bad in college. There, in the hallowed halls of academia, reading the great literary works of the decades, exposing myself to big words galore-my signature phrase was F-ckin’ A! It worked to describe the taste of food, the behavior of friends and foes, and I just used it to express general exasperation. I wasn’t raised to cuss people out, I can count the number of times I’ve heard my parents cuss and still have fingers to spare. But sometimes its just easier to tell someone F-ck You! Than to say that you'd sincerely consider their point of view.
But really this isn’t a criticism towards people who cuss. Even though I is saved, sanctified and dated a minister (brushes off halo) when folks get on my nerves I ain’t praying for them! Well, not at first anyways, it’s more like wishing them on a one way journey to someplace nice and hot. Stub a toe on some furniture? Excited that your song came on the radio? Hey, sometimes those warrant a choice four letter word of exclamation! Sh------t! (c) Clay Davis, The Wire.
But my issue is with cussing in public. Doing it loudly. Doing it in front of white folks-allowing them to view it as typical Black folk’s behavior...so when articulate Black people show up on the scene they are shocked that we know how to speak well. And I fear that we are doing it because we don’t know the vocabulary. We think we’re keeping it real, fitting in, being cute or strongly getting our point across…
Rum Punch will be the first to tell you that I don't love the following song. I mean, I came to expect more from the man who brought us Superstition and Living for the City. Surely when he wrote this he was thinking of the F-word that came to my mind when I first heard this song...
But then I thought that had he kept it "real" would the words that compose these lyrics be as poignant? Wouldn't folks have been caught up in the fact that Stevie was dropping the F-word? And at his age? He should know better too! I don't know. But there are times when we ought to censor some of the things we say so people can finally hear us speak...
"You a stupid MothaF-cka! You know that?! You’s a stupid, ugly Motha f-cka!"
"So, you ain’t S—t! B-tch!"
Oh it was a great way to start my day ya’ll. I was so proud of them!
First of all I’m already pissed that there aren’t any more three day weekends until Memorial Day (though I will be taking my Easter Monday). But I just wasn’t trying to hear that sh-t first thing in the morning before I would have to deal with the Motha Fcukas in my office.
Now I will be the first to admit, I am a reformed and still recovering Cussaholic. I spoke real bad in college. There, in the hallowed halls of academia, reading the great literary works of the decades, exposing myself to big words galore-my signature phrase was F-ckin’ A! It worked to describe the taste of food, the behavior of friends and foes, and I just used it to express general exasperation. I wasn’t raised to cuss people out, I can count the number of times I’ve heard my parents cuss and still have fingers to spare. But sometimes its just easier to tell someone F-ck You! Than to say that you'd sincerely consider their point of view.
But really this isn’t a criticism towards people who cuss. Even though I is saved, sanctified and dated a minister (brushes off halo) when folks get on my nerves I ain’t praying for them! Well, not at first anyways, it’s more like wishing them on a one way journey to someplace nice and hot. Stub a toe on some furniture? Excited that your song came on the radio? Hey, sometimes those warrant a choice four letter word of exclamation! Sh------t! (c) Clay Davis, The Wire.
But my issue is with cussing in public. Doing it loudly. Doing it in front of white folks-allowing them to view it as typical Black folk’s behavior...so when articulate Black people show up on the scene they are shocked that we know how to speak well. And I fear that we are doing it because we don’t know the vocabulary. We think we’re keeping it real, fitting in, being cute or strongly getting our point across…
Rum Punch will be the first to tell you that I don't love the following song. I mean, I came to expect more from the man who brought us Superstition and Living for the City. Surely when he wrote this he was thinking of the F-word that came to my mind when I first heard this song...
But then I thought that had he kept it "real" would the words that compose these lyrics be as poignant? Wouldn't folks have been caught up in the fact that Stevie was dropping the F-word? And at his age? He should know better too! I don't know. But there are times when we ought to censor some of the things we say so people can finally hear us speak...
See You In Seven
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