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White Picket Dreams or TAMC Part 2a

I’m sitting here looking at this old canvas
And the picture looks so different from you
Yes it does, yes it does
Maybe it’s time to go back to the drawing board
Cause it’s likely that the man I drew is fictional

Here’s the thing . . . I haven’t listened to this album in a while.  I can’t tell you why, I just haven’t.  But thanks to my Spotify Discover Weekly, this song popped up, and Solange changed my life again.  Cuz I’ve been painting over the same canvas for years.  That image of the perfect family, the perfect life, the perfect relationship.  I continue to try to make people (men and women) I meet fit on one of the canvases I created in college, that was supposed to represent what my life should be.  Even while knowing the canvas is bullshit.  Because it is.

For five long years
I thought you were my man
But I found out
I’m just a link in your chain

It took me 10 years to get over my first love (TBTLINY). Through mostly no fault of his own, I was just holding on to the hope that we could make it work.  Because the connection was so deep, and the love was so strong. It just HAD to work. But in real life, he was just meant to be my friend (I think). {I might still be holding out hope that he will come to his senses, so sue me.  You don’t know my life.} But he’s been the prototype, for everyone that has come afterward.  They have to make me feel like I did when I first heard his voice, I have to want to be with them like I wanted to be with TBTLINY. The connection had to be that strong. Repainting on the same canvas.

If I could… could forget him, I would… please believe me
And I know that I should throw the towel in
But baby it’s not… not that easy
You treat me so much better than him, And if I was sane there’d be no competition

But… but I’m in love with someone else (ooh)
And I’m so sorry hey hey
I’m in love with another man
And I know it ain’t right

Instead of trying to heal, you tried to move on.  Even though you weren’t ready.  You might have even found a good guy/girl.  But you were still staring at that old canvas.  Longing for the life you had created in your head and your heart.  It’s so hard to let go of the image, once it’s been solidified in your mind.  That painting is stuck to the walls, and it’s not coming down until it wants to.

I used to cry myself to sleep at night
But that was all before he came
I thought love had to hurt to turn out right
But now he’s here
It’s not the same, it’s not the same

So then you meet this new person, and they can do all the things.  They make you smile all day, and you feel all the feelings, and they fit the mold.  Finally, you can take that portrait off the wall, and start making a new one.  But instead of starting over, you use the outline of the last painting to create this one.At first, it works perfectly.  Slowly but surely, it’s the little things that don’t quite fit.  The painting starts to go outside the lines. They don’t quite seem so perfect, you start to see the flaws, the colors start changing, lines get blurred.  Once again, the picture in your head was wrong.

Some of you know what it feels like
Caught up just in his life
Don’t wanna try again, thinking what’s the difference?
Why am I not interested?
Cause when you’ve been broken, you feel like no one can fix it

I’ve decided to stop painting.  I just . . . Quit. And I’m okay with that. Clearly, me trying to control every bit of this isn’t working. So I’m done now.  I just needed to say that.  Cuz yeah.  That’s the conclusion I reached yesterday. Just stop trying, cuz Adulting is hard enough without trying to be a master painter.

My need to control every little part of my life is driving me crazy.  I can say that now, probably because when this blog is published, not that many people will read it.  I wrote this a few months ago, but then I didn’t publish it.  At the time, it was because I couldn’t get the Spotify links to work right . . . But you know, everything in time.  So I’ll post it now, and let this be another part of Confession #2.

 

 

 

Truth Is . . . . I’m Tired

I used to tell everyone what was going on with me.  My Facebook used to be a minute by minute detailing of every emotion, action, and life event.  I didn’t expect people to wonder where I was, I told them . . .often.

Slowly, I’ve become the opposite.  With every Black Child/Man/Woman who has been killed at the hands of the “authorities,” I’ve slowly shut down. I’ve kept my problems to myself, because they seem quite trivial in the face of Systematic Racism and Murder.  No one told me to stop talking, I just don’t.

With every new hashtag, and every new addition to the “Dangerous to do While Black” list, I’ve become more and more reclusive.  I seem to have collapsed inside myself, and I’m not even sure if I want to come out at this point.  It’s hard at this point, when every single time I open my FB or my Twitter, I’m seeing pictures of people being killed by police, or videos of the aftermath of someone being killed.  Or watching a press conference where a family member breaks down.

Black Pain has become fodder for all to consume.  Even when you try to ignore it, someone is tagging you in a post, or sending you a link.  I tried to escape to Instagram today, and all the Black Celebs that were a day late, and several dollars were posting the videos, or even still pics of crime scenes.  That shit HURTS.  It causes my body to cease up in pain, because I feel every bullet.  I can feel the pain of every mother crying out for their lost child.

This . . . situation . . . has been weighing on me since the Trayvon Martin Trial (We don’t say his killer’s name). I thought about all the children I’ve taught, and the smiles on their faces, and just felt lost. Because I can’t save them.  I can’t hold them close, and make sure they are going to live forever.  I can’t even guarantee that a trip to the pool won’t end in abuse.  I can’t tell them walking to the store won’t end their death.  My crew is driving now, I can’t guarantee they won’t get pulled over and killed during a “routine” traffic stop.

That existence, the fact that I live in a world where this is the Norm, TERRIFIES me.  Since my seizure, my emotions have started to work differently.  I don’t understand them.  In addition to that, and I know this sounds crazy, I’ve been having prophetic dreams.  Nothing normal like, “so and so is pregnant,” or “you should play these numbers tomorrow.”  No, I wake up in tears, trying to stop screams from escaping my mouth so my mom doesn’t hear me.

On  the morning of June 12th, I had the scariest dream to date.  My mom and I had gone to a club to see someone perform, and we were having a great time.  All of a sudden people were running and screaming, “There is an Arabic Guy coming to kill us!” We guided everyone into the bathroom, and we were all huddled in one stall.  As he walked in the bathroom, I turned to my mom and told her I loved her, because I knew we were going to die.  Then I woke up.

I checked my phone to see news of the Pulse nightclub shooting.  I haven’t been right since.  Because, What the FUCK?!?! If that’s a Gift from God, I’m not sure how he expects me to use it.  Since that dream, I’ve only been able to remember parts of.  But I’m still afraid of where my mind will take me some nights. This World . . . This World is stressing me OUT.

I haven’t even talked about what’s been going on in my LIFE this year.  I probably won’t. Because my burdens are small compared to those of others.  Problems have come up, I’ve solved them, the best way I know how.  Maybe, when I’m famous, I’ll talk about how my life changed in 2016.  ‘Cuz it surely has.

This post is all over the place. It’s not very coherent (in my opinion). But I promised my Therapist (yes, I have one of those now) I would take at least 15 minutes to write. And I try to keep my promises, especially when they are basically homework toward healing.

The Moment My Musical Childhood Died . . .

image

Michael Jackson was the voice of my youth.  I distinctly remember how each of his songs made me feel the first time I heard them.  I remember going to see him in concert. { More on that experience in My MJ is Gone Blog} When he died . . . I was completely inconsolable for DAYS. Like, I sat on the couch, and just stared at the TV and the Computer screen.

Whitney Houston was the voice of my adolescence.   I sang The  Bodyguard in the car listening to my DiscMan.  The Preacher’s Wife Soundtrack is STILL my favorite Gospel Album. I stood outside my house, and cried while talking to my best friend.   When Whitney died, so did the last vestigaes of my childhood.

Prince was the Voice of my Womanhood.  When I was 23, I saw him in concert, when he did the Musicology Tour.  I remember being at awe of him, on stage, with just 4 guitars, a piano, and his amazing band.  I knew I was seeing a genius at work. 

The first time I heard Purple Rain as an adult, was the day my soulmate broke my heart.  The words struck me in a way they never had before.  I’d seen the movie all my life, loved it and the soundtrack.  But something about him singing about the failure of that relationship, when all he had was the best of intentions . . . It tore my soul. I curled up in a ball, in my walk-in closet of my first apartment in Tucson, and cried for HOURS. I listened to Purple Rain, the song, not the album, until my phone died . . . About 5 hours. 

Music has always defined how I felt about life.  It’s always been the background to major  life events and crisis’. April 21, 2016 . . . The day all my music was finally dead.  I feel like I’ve lost a part of me, that still hadn’t healed from losing MJ and Whitney. I might never be able to listen to Purple Rain again without crying . Just like I can’t listen to Man in the Mirror anymore, or The Greatest Love of All.

Today, when I’ve heard people talk or read about this loss, those three people are held in the same stature.  “This is worse than when MJ Died,” or “This is just like when I found out about Whitney.” Or “He’s the last on the list of my childhood musical heros.” I feel like we are a generation lost at this point. I was 2 years old when Purple Rain come out, yet its in my top Five movies that define the 80’s for me.

My musical heart is broken.  And there is nothing, and no one who can fix it. Ever.

Why Hello Depression . . . You weren’t Missed at All.

It’s hard to explain to people how your attitude can change with a look, or the lack of one.  I started out this morning on a good note.  I was happy, and I had just received some great news.  I haven’t had another seizure, and I might actually be losing weight.  There is no reason for me to be on the verge of tears. And yet, I am.

Something as stupid as not receiving an email, made me feel stupid and ostracized and unwanted. I feel unvalued, and unimportant.  I feel less than.  And that’s a slippery slope.  Because usually, the way I deal with that is reaching out to someone to make me feel special. Usually, the best way to do that is sexually, or eating. Both of them, at one time or another, were my go-to methods of self-help.

I’m sitting on my* porch, and trying to figure out why I’m in this place again.  The only real trigger is the fact that I walked into a chapter meeting, and I didn’t get the “Wear Black, we are taking chapter pictures,” email. I looked unprofessional, and unprepared.  I felt stupid.  And how VAIN is that.  That was my trigger, not looking perfect.

This seizure has changed so much of my life.  More than I can even speak on at the moment. But not having the control of my own space, my own transportation, my own schedule has been such a struggle for me.  I’m used to only having to rely on me to get things done.  I’m starting to feel the pressure of depending on others.

And it’s not even pressure from the outside.  It’s me telling myself you have to do and be all the things.  You can’t be weak.  People are expecting you to fail, get it together. And I can’t. It seems like around every corner is yet another obstacle getting in my way. My emotions are out of control almost all the time.  I miss my friends. I hate when people talk to me in my free time. I’m going to make people hate me soon, just so that I can have some peace in my life.

I’ve been in Arizona for 7+ years.  This is home to me. But I MISS MY FRIENDS. I miss the ability to go see someone whenever I want to.  I’m trying to navigate new relationships, and I don’t know where I stand in them.  I don’t know what I want, and at the same time, trying to figure out if I still believe in the word Hope. I’m miserable when I get free time.  I hate thinking, I hate my idle mind.  I want quiet  . . . with someone else there.

Nothing I’m currently thinking makes any sense.  That’s what my depression looks like.  One bad day, followed by several good ones.  Pushing everything down, because I have to work.  People are counting on me, get it together.  But that one day . . . it hits when I don’t have something in front of me to distract me from my inner voice.  That voice used to be my mom.  It kept me motivated.  That voice has become my own, and I’m sad. I can’t seem to find the words to get out of these funks.

I need my support system here, in Arizona.  I need A support system in Arizona. The only person who has had my back my whole life is my mother, and I just . . . she’s getting older. She’s spent my entire life having my back, and I should be working on having hers. And I’m not, because I’m in this place. The place that won’t allow me to let go and have faith. This place that makes me sad, and attitudinal and RUDE to her. Because I’m so afraid of losing her. I don’t know what my life would be without her here. And I’m so afraid, this fear is nothing i’ve ever felt before. I just watched my siblings have to say goodbye to their mother, and I’m so AFRAID.

Maybe that’s the base of my whatever the hell this is.  That every day, I’m looking at my mom, and realizing how blessed I am having her in my life. Maybe that’s it.

Whatever the hell it is, I’m not in the right place. And it’s easier to write that here, and share it with strangers, than ask my friends for help. It’s easier to post this, and pretend it’s just another blog post, and not a cry for  . . . something.  Not help, because I’m tired of needing help from people. I can post this here, and be selfish enough to be this emo, and not interrupt people’s lives crying and being sad. This depression thing, it comes in waves.  It hasn’t crashed down on me, yet.  I’m not drowning, yet.  But I’m soaked right now.

Dear 2015 . . . Thank You!

Happy New Year!!! Before I can talk about 2016, I want to write a love letter to 2015, as she treated me exceptionally well. So here goes . . .

Dear 2015,

Ino-one-said-a-relationship-would-be-easy-quote-1 started my year laying in bed with someone I thought I loved.  I was looking forward to exploring that relationship, and seeing where it would take me.  I ended this year in a bed in a hotel room, sleeping.  I consider that progress. BTB, as he was referred to via text, was a great person, who just wasn’t the greatest person for me.  Thank you, 2015, for teaching me what I really need from a relationship.

11226a69ba8bcfcff240192ffe7267dfSpeaking of relationship needs, 2015, thank you for giving me closure with MM.  Thank you for allowing Adele to create Hello, which gave me the in to make the phone call. Thank you for the tears, the dropping of all my walls for the first time in 4 years, and understanding I’ll never get over the loss of him, and finally being okay with it.  Thank you for helping me to finally be adult enough to deal with him, and understanding me not being in his life, is HIS loss, and no longer mine.

12068774_10156193040040613_5727737327877461904_oAlso, 2015, thank you for all the travel I’ve been blessed enough to have this year.  Thank you that most of it has been not at my expense.  Thank you that I’ve been blessed enough to explore new places, and experience new food, and open myself to new people.  Thank you for the single serving friends I made while stranded in the Dallas airport, who stayed awake with me and shared their lives for that brief 16 hour clusterfuck.  Thank you for Seattle, and Tiffany.  Thank you my trip back to Detroit, and the $1300 in Travel Vouchers I earned by simply taking a later flight.

11890334_10156032907620613_7158217206638298298_oThank you, 2015, for finally finding my career.  For showing me, almost every day, that I CAN make a difference in the life of a child in more than one way. Thank you for combining my greatest life skill, Stalking People on the Internet, with my passion for helping children and making them work.  Thank you for giving me jobs which provided me with the autonomy I’ve always needed to succeed when working for others

11058219_10156449265155613_4546870432011955837_oThank you, 2015, for my God-Children, and all the children I’ve ever taught or worked with, who still remember me and are a part of my life.  Thank you for my Parents, with all their eccentricities.  Thank you that they are still alive, and well, and a part of my everyday life.  Thank you for the blessing of being able to call them when I need them, but also being able to call them without needing a thing.  Thank you for my family, immediate and extended, in all shapes, colors, ethnicities, and ages.  Thank you for the family I’ve created, and the family God gave me.  We are a work in progress.

dca470a731a288455632a65bf85058b1Lastly, but most importantly 2015, thank you for my Friends.  Thank you for reminding me who they are, and who they were, and that they love me.  Thank you for giving me the opportunity to see 85% of them while I was in Detroit/Dayton/Cincinatti, and spend quality time with them.  Thank you for the astonishing realization that all of us are ADULTS, who make adult decisions every day, and are happy in our lives.  Thank you for helping us to navigate life together, and sometimes apart, and still be able to look each other in the eye with pride.

Thank You 2015, even for the earth shattering losses of this year.  Thank you for all the tears, and fears, and self-doubt, and bad times.  Because I’ve grown so much more than I even knew until recently. Thank you for Everything, 2015. You’ve definitely made me a a better person.

Sincerely,

Mz. Joy

 

 

 

30 Day Writing Challenge: 5 Day Catch-Up

Day 12: Two  Words/Phrases that make you Laugh
Fart and Poop.  Yes, I am a 4 year old child.  Judge if you must. They make me giggle.

Day 13: My Commute to and from work/school.
I drive about 65 miles a day.  My office is only about 15 minutes from my house.  My tutoring client however, some of them are like 20 miles away from each other.  So yeah, ispend the majority of my day driving.  Thank God for The Read podcast, NPR,  and Spotify.  Because my clients live so far out, I can’t get regular radio stations  It’sasignofmy Adulthood that I get the majority of my news from NPR.  I also look forward to the Jazz Shows that come on after 7:00pm.  I’ve learned so much about Billie Holiday and John Coltrane.  I love NPR.

Day 14: Your Life in 7 Years…
Well, hopefully I will have my Masters in Social Work.  My house will look exactly the way I envisioned it, and I will spend at least 1 month a year traveling.  I try not to reveal my life plans to the world anymore, you never know who is plotting against me.

Day 15: Three Pet Peeves
1) Entitlement: I hate children and their sense of entitlement.  This generation is so spoiled and selfish.  They really do think the World oesthem something. Maybe it’s how I was raised, but I had to work for the things I wanted.  That’s why I was 15 hen I got my first job.  The kids I tutor remind me every day how NOT to raise any children I have.

2) White Privlege: So here’s the thing.  You can’t be an adult, in 2015 and not understand what White Privlege is, and that You benefit from it.  Because even if you only watch Fox News, you probably have a Facebook, or friends that aren’t as jaded and lost as you are.  If could not have gone to school and not heard of  racism, and know it still exists.  You Cant Be That Blind.

3) When Artists don’t allow me to Stream their Album on Spotify
I’m talking to You, ADELE. I need to be able to listen to your album on friday, and I can’t unless I buy it.  I am on a STRICT budget forthe next two months.  I can’t afford your album.  I’m going to have to deny myself FOOD because I want to hear your album.  Can we talk about how SELFISH that is? Like seriously!

Day 16: Bullet Your Whole Day
-Woke Up
-Watched 90210
-Went back to Sleep
-Woke Up again
-Got Dressed
-Drove to Client #1 House
-Drove to Client #2 House
-Drove Home
-Watched TV
-Tried to go to Sleep
-Took Nyquil, then went to sleep

Straight Outta Think Pieces . . . . aka My Thoughts on the Movie

So, this isn’t a think piece . . . per se.  It’s more about how the movie affected me as a fan of Rap, a Woman, a Child of the 80’s, and an avid movie goer.  Thankfully, since I don’t have a huge following, I don’t really have to worry about any blow back from what I say. Hurray Anonymity!

The Movie As a Whole

I actually liked it.  I wish I had been able to see it opening weekend, so I hadn’t spent the last week reading all the articles about the movie, and listening to people discuss it on most of the podcasts that I follow.  I was supposed to see it last Sunday, but I was laying in bed dying from a stupid ass summer cold.  I live in Tucson, so clearly I was the only black person in the theatre, and that was expected.

On August 8, 1988, I was 6. Clearly I wasn’t at concerts singing Fuck the Police.  I had no clue who they were.  I really didn’t start listening to rap until 2Pac. When he hooked up with Death Row, that’s when I knew who Dre was. Ice Cube was Dough Boy, when I snuck and saw Boyz in the Hood. I’ve never professed to be a Gansta Rap aficionado, I just know what I liked.  Eazy E was the dude Dre clowned in the Dre Day Video, and the person who introduced me to Bone Thugs N’ Harmony.  I remember when they announced Eazy had HIV, then AIDS, and like 3 days later he was died.  I wasn’t attached to NWA as a group, so this movie didn’t hold that kind of sentiment for me.  I just wanted to see it.

What I Loved


O’Shea Jackson Jr. was EVERYTHING.  First of all, that man is FOINE.  2ND OF ALL, THAT MAN IS FOOOOOINE. Also, he did an amazing job playing his father.  I actually believed him in the role.  When he walked in that office, in that black hoodie with that bat . . . WHEW. I mighta been a tad bit hot and bothered.

I also liked the actor who played Shug Knight.  Because THAT nigga was crazy.  I don’t know if he was just that good of an actor, but I TRULY believed he would have beat somebody down like that for parking in his spot.  He just seemed . . . not quite right.  Any time I saw him on the screen, I was a little concerned for the safety of everyone in the room.

I absolutely loved the end, and how you got to see how far reaching the group was.  The best part to me, was watching them together as a group.  Seeing that camaraderie while they were making Boyz in the Hood, and how they clowned Eazy when he first tried to rap, was beautiful.  The actors did a great job playing off each other.  You could tell they had genuine relationships with each other.  The movie as a whole was good . . . .not as amazing as everyone has said . . . but it was good.

What I Hated

Why were there so many titties in that damn movie?!?! Like for real, we get it.  Ya’ll had bitches.  I don’t need to see topless women at every damn party.  So many damn naked women, most of them lightskinned.  I remember when the casting requirements got leaked for the female “talent,” I knew then it was gone be some bullshit.  Also, why did Eazy, Dre, and Cube marry the same woman.  Like, they looked exactly the same. Their wives could have been played by the same person, in various wigs.  NO ONE WOULD HAVE NOTICED.

Serious Question: Did DJ Yella and Mc Ren just do nothing else with their lives? Like, they just did that NWA thing, and had nothing else happened?  They were bit characters in the movie, and I feel like they should have had more screen time.  Maybe they didn’t get their dollars up, and weren’t able to pay for that Executive Producer type screen time. The actor who played Mc Ren, Aldis Hodge needed more screen time.  Because . . . . FOINE.

So much misogyny, so little time, Dr. Dre is an abusive asshole.  Yet, no mention of that.  I vaguely knew about his abusive history with Miche’le, and after hearing about the whole Dee Barnes episode . . . I felt a way about supporting the movie.  Because this was a VERY watered down version of them.  No mention of their personal lives, or parents, or children.  It was like, all of that wasn’t important, because Famous. In my continuous effort to #StayWoke, I’m constantly conflicted when supporting people who have done horrible things.  But I’m a hypocrite in this instance, because I saw the movie.

What Could Have Been Done Better

They had a chance to make a better movie.  Like their music did, they could have told the truth.  They could have talked about all the violence that ran rampant in their homes, not just their neighborhood.  They could have talked more about the emotional impact of dealing with the LAPD.  They could have talked about how 1992 isn’t that different from 2015 when it comes to institutional racism.  They could have talked about how they learned to get to the level Dre and Cube are at now.  This movie had the potential to be as impactful as the album it was named for.  But Alas . . . it was turned into a “Look how great we were and still are,” type movie.

Why didn’t they talk more about Bone Thugs N Harmony?!?!?! {That was stated as a hardcare Bone Fan, I just had to get that out}  Why no mention of the East Coast/West Coast Beef?!? Like, all we got was Pac recording one song?!?! I needed the Scorsese Version of this movie.  Like, the 3 hour long version, done by a director who wasn’t best friends with the people the movie was about.  Sometimes, you gotta open your circle. But you know, I don’t know shit.  I just watch a lot of movies.

In Conclusion . . .

The one thing this movie did, was help me realize the impact that NWA had on Hip Hop Culture as a whole.  From movie soundtracks, to actual movies, to inspiring and finding some of my own favorite rappers, NWA was important.  A picture of what NOT to do, but also how the truth can change your life.

Screenshot_2015-08-22-15-57-00

  • If not for Dre, there would be no Eminem.  And he’s my favorite rapper, even though he’s abusive as hell as well.
  • If not for Dre, there would be no Kendrick, and he’s very quickly becoming a permanent member of my Top 10.
  • If not for Cube, there would be no Friday, one of the most quotable movies in the last 20 years.
  • If not for Cube, there would be no Boyz in the Hood, one of the first movies to take “the hood” mainstream
  • If not for Cube, there would be no O’Shea Jackson, Jr. and again . . . FOINE.
  • If not for Eazy, there would be no Bone Thugs N’ Harmony, and my freshman year of high school would have been severely lacking
  • If not for Eazy, there would be no Mc Ren, and Aldis Hodge wouldn’t be on his way to being a household name

So, those are my thoughts.  Thanx for reading, and feel free to comment. 

Thank God I’m Not a Christian

From a Very Good Friend

Eclectic Louise

Dear God,

 

I thank you for my health. I thank you for my family whether they are by blood or not. You have truly shown yourself to me this year.  Thank you for allowing me to be a blessing to others never expecting anything in return but you always honored my giving with an overflow.  You’re pretty awesome and I can never thank you enough for everything you’re doing in my life.

 

I don’t normally come to you like this but I have to tell you I’m over being a Christian.  I can’t be associated with these type of people. What kind of people you ask? Well I’ll tell you.

 

These Christians are more concerned about what I wear than seeing how much it took me to come to church on Sunday.

 

These Christians are so nosey that they do their best to befriend me on…

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Some Shyt, You Just Don’t Do . . .

Let start off my saying, I’ve grown alot as a person in the last 10 months.  I’ve become a mature adult, and started to understand so many things about this wonderful world we are currently living in.  But I haven’t lost my GOT DAMN MIND! I am going to be voicing my opinions, if they offend you, I don’t care.  I’m an adult, and I can say what the FCUK I want, dammit. Shyt.

1) Show Up at A Girl’s House At 5 In the Morning.

Okay, first, WHY IS THIS MY LIFE???? Who does that? I was minding my own business, sleeping in my comfortable ass bed, when I hear a voice from afar . . . “Hey {Insert My Name Here}. It’s He’s So Pretty.  I got kicked out of my house. ”

My response, “Are you Fcuking Serious right now?

Mind you, I would consider this dude a friend.  He’s cool, but a flake.  He has baby momma issues, and that’s HIS shyt. But are you for real right now? Did you just show up at my apartment at 5 in the morning, and we have NEVER had sex, weren’t looking to create a relationship, nothing.  We are just friends? WHO. DOES. THAT?!?!?! There are so many things WRONG with this situtation, like so many things.

  • Why didn’t you call me first?
  • Why in the Ass Fcuk Hell is it 5 in the morning?
  • Why the hell did you show up at MY house?

And like an IDIOT, I actually opened the door.  I blame it on the fact that I wasn’t fully awake.  I said, “Chill on the couch, I will deal with you when I wake up.” Do you know, THIS mu’fcuka had the nerve to try to follow me into my bedroom.  OMG, first thing that came out of my mouth, “Have You LOST YOU FCUKING MIND?” He had the audacity, the unmitigated GALL, to look HURT. Then left in a huff.  MOTHER FCUK! Then, he sends me an EMAIL saying sorry.

About That . . . . Some Shyt, You Just Don’t Do.

2) Pretend to be Over Something If You Aren’t

Dear Otis Toussaint, this is directed toward you.  Get Over that SHYT. Yes, the comment was made, it CLEARLY hurt your feelings.  But how much of a bitch are you going to be about the situation.  Telling only your side of the story to people, acting like a useless victim is cowardly, and stupid.  For some reason, you forget to mention calling people Fat Bitches, Cunts, and a plethora of other things.  You forgot to mention that you lied to my face, then tried to call me out on Facebook, less than 12 hours after saying that Internet beef is stupid/petty.  Oh.

Ok.

Also, we don’t care about you.  Seriously, you are a joke just like Ebe.  Your consistent BitchAssNess is the thing we dream of to bring Sum07 together.  We will also continue to antagonize you, because it bothers you.  And stop getting mad when people call you out for wanting to be Atom Kane.  We’ve accepted it, you should to. 🙂

BitchAssNess – Some Shyt, You Just Don’t Do

3) Date Beneath You in 2011

Okay, it shouldn’t cost you to date a man.  I’m not talking about going out to dinner.  I’m talking about you have to change your whole life, just to be with him.  I mean, ruin relationships with other people because of your love for another man.  Broke Folk need love to, but loving them shouldn’t make you broke too.  I continue to see females doing the most OUTLANDISH stuff for men, in 2011.  Don’t you know we are in a Depression.  Every person in the relationship has GOT to be bringing something to the table.  This, “Oh, but he needs someone to help him out for a little while,” mentality is RUINING everything.

Being a Stupid Female – Some Shyt, You Just Don’t Do

4) Be a Proud Black Republican

I MEAN REALLY! This isn’t 1865, when the Republicans were really the Democrats that we know today.  This is 2011, when a Republican running for the Highest Office in the Nation used to go hunting at a place called NiggerHead.  Wanna know why it was called NiggerHead, because a lot of them were chopped off on the land.  Black republicans have GOT to be the stupidest people alive.  I don’t care how conservative you are, at the end of the day, the Republican Party is doing everything in it’s POWER, to keep you Poor.

When they talk about making America a Better Place, did you ever notice that they are getting rid of programs that benefit Brown People.  They’re Just Not That Into You. When they say WE, they aren’t talking to you.  When you vote Republican, you are LITERALLY hurting yourself, and those around you.  It doesn’t matter how much money you have, they will tear you down in a MINUTE. Just look at Tiger Woods. I don’t care how long you served in the military, they put your black ass on the front lines for a reason.

Political Stupidity – Some Shyt, You Just Don’t Do