Just so Malicious!

It has been brought to my attention that I may be just a tad bit crazy and a Jesus Freak. That the sun rises in the north and sets in the south and the sky is dotted with stuffed animals and a few flowers - in my world.

So what do I say to that?

Well, justification is only for people that matter, i.e. close friends. Everybody else is just there. Existing only to help me in my purpose. Therefore, I need not to justify why I may have said or done something, especially if it was wrong and God has forgiven me for it. And especially if they don't sign my checks.

Craziness is a mindset. Maybe the fact that someone has time to think and dwell on how crazy you were shows obsessive compulsive tendencies. Am I indeed two bananas short of a bunch or two jokers short of a full deck? I don't think I'm crazy, just misunderstood. From a viewpoint of not being sane, I would think that I am pretty sane - I am in college, I have a couple of jobs, I write for release, I pray for therapy, and I laugh for quality of life. And one could argue that these are also symptoms of a serial killer. AHA! Not so. Because a serial killer does not look this good. Maybe an assassin**, but definitely not a serial killer.

What do I say to being a Jesus Freak? I say "thank you." If my life reflects to you in a way where I would labeled on fire for Christ, well amen to that, and you can keep it moving! I am not worthy - Hallelujah. Jesus loves us entirely too much to spit in His face. Like duh you guys. Must you live vicariously through me to piggyback off of my blessings because you are too scared to get your own? Maybe you should try to be a Jesus freak too. Rather be a Jesus freak than just a freak, you heathen.

'Tis All.

*picture-www.crazyladycandy.com
**Disclaimer- I am not a murder/killer/assassin.

Leap of Faith

So, in a bold move, I just wrote myself a check for $100,000 in US currency.

Why?

Because one day, one day, one day, I will be able to cash that check for myself. It's in a safe place, a really safe place. At least, a place I deem to be safe. One day I will look back on this day and shed tears of joy because I will look around and see the list in my "faith notebook" filled with completed goals. And I will smile, my husband will hug me tightly and my children will be somewhere in the house behaving. And we'll all be blessed!!

Motivation for faith is key. And sometimes, you just don't feel like it. It's so much easier to reason that as long as you have enough to pay your bills, or keep food on the table, or a mediocre job, or a mediocre relationship with God, then that is enough. Is it enough to live hand to mouth check to check? Is it enough for me to wonder whether or not I will be able to keep my electricity on, or to have to decide between my telephone and my water? Is it enough for me to only speak in tongues and not be able to cast out demons or heal the sick? I think not.

It's not enough to sit back and take those things that inconvenience me (or you). I shouldn't have to wear Wet 'n' Wild when I can wear MAC, Bobbi Brown, or even Covergirl.

Today is the day that you and I begin to work on our minds. Let's not stay defeated in any area of our lives. Most people think that it only possible to be blessed in one way or the other. While I'm not saying that you gotta be rich to be saved, you should be the lender not the borrower...but how can you lend if you don't have anything? How can you provide shelter for someone if you can barely keep your house? Where are our priorities where our clothes and cars cost more than our homes?

In the end, I am just trying to cash this check that I have in this safe place and do the dern thing.

'Tis All.

Do I look like I give a d@mn?

This is my wtf rant, keeping them coming comin'- on the rocks, no chaser.

1) Look at my face, my pretty gorgeous face, and ask me if I look like I care that you got some Bathin' Apes?!?!

Like OMG, IDK Soldja Boi! That song is so oily and disturbing that I literally have a pimple because of it. I would take a picture, but I ain't trying to go there. WTF were you thinking? This song should be burned... in hell, forever. The original lyrics should be shredded and fed to goats in a field.

Anyone who purchases these shoes because of this song, is not the business. I hope they have holes in the bottom of their shoes by the end of the week so they can feel just as stupid and drugged up as I feel after I listen to that song in it's entirety. Someone should kick them in their booty meat. Ewwwww!

2) Look at me, do I look like I care about your ego, pride, or the possibility of your embarrassment?!?!?

Men, if you have an STD, please tell your girl. Or should someone hit you up with a lawsuit for reckless endangerment? I declare I am going to scream if I hear another story about a negroid accidentally giving his girl an STD. WTF accidental? You knew you had it way back when so don't get mad if you sleep with her the second time and she smell a lil' different. That was your bad. Your bad, your bad.

Don't get mad if she look at you with the cock eye for no reason one day. And if she asks you if there was even a possibility that it could have been you, MAN THE FREAK UP and tell her, yes it was me. Matter of fact, don't wait for her to ask, let her know immediately. There should be no question- by the time penis hits vagina, there should be no unsolved mysteries.

And men and women and brethren, that is what foreplay is for (not that I condone per martial anything, I'm just saying) you should be inspecting for anything that could possibly be out of place, please don't get it twisted. As for the song called *Smell your D*ck,* if you gotta ask your man to smell it, chances are he ain't doing you right and that he triflin' for coming home at 2 am with the smelly balls sensation.

Same goes for females.

3)Check out the wrinkle in my forehead as I try to understand your outfit!!!

Everybody is not a fashionista. Just because you walking around on campus all bright with three different oranges on does not mean it's an outfit. You are supposed to be stopping traffic and not directing it or signaling planes or something. And I hope that your clothes fit!

4)As I breathe a heavy sigh and throw my hands to Heaven:

As for the prophecy that the world will end in 2012- uhm, ok. Then they say the Nephalim are coming back and some other stuff too... There are so many prophecies that must be fulfilled that I wonder how are all of them will in a matter of 5 years... Matter of fact, while you trippin' if Obama is elected president, I'm going to live in a cave because obviously it's about to be some stuff going down on the world front anyway. I'm just saying. (You got my vote black man).

5)Look at me as I cry about the state of the world and televangelists.

The IRS is finally investigating these folks. Now I admit, TD Jakes got his business on the side, ain't mad at that, you gotta hustle to stay alive. However he also said that some Christians should be in first class and some in coach - am I not good enough to sit next to your four hundred dollar shoes Mr. Jakes? I mean, I am trying to be a televangelist too so I can drive an imported Jaguar and get a house in the Hills with an indoor movie theater and skating rink. And y'all keep saying that I gotta surround myself with the people who are doing what I want and going where I am trying to go, can I sit next to you - can you buy me a ticket, that's the better question. It was said that they were giving each other gifts in order to hide the funds of the church. Lord have mercy for them hustling in the House, that's why Jesus turned them tables over!

Do I look like I care that it's cold outside? This is why I'm hot.

'Tis All.

Friends, how many of us have them?

I got some good friends y'all. And I feel bad for the females who don't have good friends. Dedicated to them/HER:

Grow up little girl
Get your mind right.
Can't put two and two together?
I guess you're not too bright.
A picture may speak a thousand words
And create tensions within,
But I doubt your vocab is large enough
To adequately define them.
Do me a favor-
Please sit down
The things you do
Only make you look like a clown.
And how lame is your friend,
A student at my school,
Who thought her friend's man was cheating
And played it cool?
To sit back like paparazzi
And take pictures like snap snap,
Like her name is Dick Tracy
And she investigating a trap.
Why didn't she find out what was up?
Why didn't she try to see the deal?
We were DANCING, your friend is lame*-
I'm just keeping it real.
I don't want your man
Is it that serious?
A dance at a party= cut buddy?
You are SO delirious!
I NEVER did anything she said I did,
And that's where you come in.
She probably wants your man
And is playing off like she your "friend."
Girl please, take my picture down
You don't know me!
Stop your childishness-
Back up off me!
I just wanted to let you know,
And this much is true-
I am so SAVED in Christ,
And God loves you too!
Vengeance is mine, said the Lord
But please don't test me.
I got too much to lose in life
To have somebody arrest me.

*And you're lame for getting mad.

'Tis All.

Let the Church say Amen.

Close your eyes and imagine (well not really), just pretend like you are in church. Pastor just announced the praise dancers, and your spirit is like Hallelujah, Amen. Mary Mary comes on and you're just like 'Yes'. Then out of nowhere, twelve year old and younger females start "cranking that".

And yet again, on youtube, there is a group of young men and women cranking that Holy Ghost. Does that even make sense? Crank that Holy Ghost? How about being guided by the Holy Ghost, or being convicted by the Holy Ghost?

Black people, I say this with all endearment and peace in my spirit... everything that is secular is NOT transferable to the Church. Seriously folks. This has got to stop! This madness, it's ludicrous. Can I shake my booty meat for the Lord? Can I spiderman that hoe and hang her from the balcony in the Church so she can hear the Word? Can I get me bodied for Jesus? No. What does get me bodied even mean?

I wish I would see the Pastor's wife in Church with a mini skirt and some thigh high boots, a halter top, and a pink wig talking about God knows my heart. I'm telling you, the Church is headed south folks. At this rate, you're going to see people passing that 'dro along with the offering basket, taking communion with a shot of Hennessey, and demanding a callous remover and pumice stone with the feet washing.

It just ain't right. Leave well enough alone. I bet we're going to hear a remix of Bed in the choir stand soon:

He'll wrap His arms around your head
Remember everything you said
A love you like you're His best friend
Rest in Him like you're in bed, bed, bed...

I see it coming, black people. And this should not be.

But that's all I have, as I am procrastinating at the moment.

Moral of this story: Just say no.

'Tis All.

Ode to my Stretch Marks

After caressing my cellulite in all of its glory, I move my hands to the 9th wonder of the world, my stretch marks.

Yep, yep, my stretch marks.

Perfectly positioned. Uniquely laid. Gives my legs the longer, leaner look leading up to my banging booty in my bad high heeled boots.

And you thought that my thighs were a shade lighter than my skin tone? AHA. Gotcha. My stretch marks, so intertwined, act as an all natural skin brightener. Forget the bleach, reach- for the potato chips.

My stretch marks moonlight as a cost effective GPS system when I have deviated from the course leading towards my destination:



I just pull my shirt up a little, pull my pants down a little and I have access to any road map that I may need. Or when my man's hands deviate from the waist line, I kindly tell him to follow the road signs back to where he needs to be.

If you pour some milk and honey on my thighs, I SWEAR that you will see hearts, stars, and horseshoes.

The rumble in these jungles are reminiscent of San Andreas Fault line. Times 10. When I move my body like a cyclone, my stretch marks wave like a tsunami. Splash.

Admiring my thighs at night is like watching shooting stars. Make a wish. I promise it'll come true.

Don't hate on my stretch game. This has been ordained. It's up to you to press for the STRETCH mark of the high calling. Amen.

But eventually, my shea butter may make them fade away, which may cost me tons in gas money as I won't have access to directions. But, I'll remember that my stretch marks are the business. Plus, I heard that imperfections can get you major play, at least, that's what happened to Deelishus. Rumpshaker!

'Tis All.

"Small Minded" Folks

Small minded folks carry on
Small, restrained, unintelligent convo's
Over coffee and cheap wine-
Tainted thoughts from tainted minds,
Splattered with complex words undefined.
Unfathomable philosophies
Pried from the depth of the like of these
Boggles my poor little head
Like peaceful foreign policies stained blood red.

Small minded folks walk with a hunch
So they won't stand out amongst the bunch
Their weapons of mass destruction blunt-
Because their lips don't move fast enough;
They refuse to shut but can't speed up
And the nonsense pours out like rain
From their imperfect brains
The same as before
But tainted with ignorance much more.

Small minded folks familiarize a familiar place
So they won't face the changing pace
Of the surrounding environment
Too large to comprehend
Like Plato and Aristotle going at it again.
A creation of a large spectacle;
The objective from their perspective
Is only within their eyes' reach
Anything else would be an illogical breach
Of all their self imposed limitations.

Little people have little dreams-
And big thinkers do big things
Who am I not to want something great?
Who am I to succumb to the hate?
If the Will is so, it's already done
So there's is no need for me to become undone.
And the small minded folks will lag behind.
And the small minded folks will remain undefined.
And the small minded folks will waste their time-
Until the small minded folks enrich their minds.

L.

*Yes I know how awkward "small minded" sounds, just didn't feel like putting quotes in the whole thing. Thanks for reading.
~'Tis All.

This Black Chick Reviews this Flick *Spoilers*

Saw 4.

I don't care how you put it, formulate it, whatever. I understood that the beginning was really the end, but I was still like WTF at the end of the movie. Why oh why are they setting us up for Saw 5? They could have easily told us what was in the envelope that was written for Amanda and the detective's motives as well. But it was cool to see John go crazy... I mean that's a tragedy in itself, but dang he took it a little too far with the craziness...

Now Lyriq (Riggs) was oh so fine in the movie. The fact that he was under pressure had his shirt all off for no reason was just like wow. Like the Orlando Bloom & Anakin Skywalker factor.



Thank you for the eye candy in the midst of the gore, guts, blood, and over-the-top mutilation of the human body. Now I appreciated his fervor for saving lives, however, I do not think that after all those trials I would have walked through that door. Halfway through the movie it was like "ok, so if he tries to save the detective, someone's going to die." That was the WHOLE point of his test anyway - stop trying to save lives that aren't for you to save. It's ok to save a life if it is not an obsession, which it had become for him. I mean, I knew something was wrong when this chick tried to kill him after he had saved her life. How in the world was all that stuff set up for him in his house while he was sleep? He must have been extra quiet while securing homegirl to an engineered death trap. What was really gruesome was the deaf-mute trap (if you can't see it youtube it):



And the lady that ended up killing her abusive husband. Yeah, that was neat- you go girl. I won't even address the guy getting ripped limb from limb as I had mixed feelings about him and his voyeurism. But the only part in the movie that made me cringe was the autopsy. Thank you Wes Craven for desensitizing me to the harsh realities of horror movies.

And plus, HOW IN THE WORLD WILL THEY EXPLAIN THAT THEY FOUND JIGSAW'S BODY WITH THE OTHER FBI AGENT IN THERE ALIVE LOCKED IN THE ROOM WITH THE DEAD BODIES KNOWING THAT TWO DETECTIVES WERE MISSING AND ONE RETURNS TO PLAY THE TAPE AT THE AUTOPSY AND NOT PUT TWO AND TWO TOGETHER? I mean they are going to have to create a cork for that plot hole. How did he even end up in that room anyway? If he had been following the same path as Riggs, obviously he was because he didn't see any of Jeff's test stuff, how did he end up in the room where Jigsaw was unless he either had a prior knowledge of that room or purposefully made a wrong turn? Jigsaw lays out the path your are supposed to go plainly so there shouldn't have been any detours.

AND how are they going to deal with the fact that there is a "serial kidnapper/lunatic" on the loose and these people are running around without partners/backup/bombs? Somebody missed that part of training. Why oh why did Perez decide to take a closer look at the doll? He said your next move would be crucial or something like that. Personally, if I knew that a serial killer was using a toy doll to deliver the death message, I would have called for backup from the cops (might as well, they are on payroll) and said "inspect this" before I got my face blown. I'm FBI b!tch. Plus, did anyone think that if Amanda was MIA 100 lbs soaking wet and Jigsaw was two breaths from death since movie 2, that someone else had to have been planting these things? FINGERPRINT AND FORENSICS people.

And the whole ice block crushing the head thing, reminded me of that guy who crushed the watermelons. Yeah, I just shook my head in the theatre. Why? Because this guy has survived through 2 movies only to die. Dang. And the twist wasn't really a twist, not really.

But, in my delight in intertwined storylines, I will more than likely check movie 5 to dig deeper into the Saw mysteries. But with more skepticism rather than awe. But they could easily write an essay about what will happen and I'd read it and save myself the long drive from this country place to a theatre.

'Tis All.

The Men in my Life

I just wanted to take some serious time and thank all the men in my life for bringing out the best woman in me for the Man in my life. I know it's a hard thing to say/ realize but it's a good thing really. All the b.s. (disrespect, lack of balls, marriage proposal, etc.) just made me that much more aware and that much more enlightened. I am so thankful for the trials of life because they truly make me a better person in the end. Although while you go through trials they seem like they are there to break you down, in the end, they just make you see that all things do work out for good!

Unless your name is - Juanita Bynum. Yeah, he was wrong for beating the FYRE out of you in that parking lot. And he was wrong for saying that you needed to sit down and shut up. I ain't hating sister that you threatened him with that brick. Sometimes the crazy comes out.

BUT there are just somethings that don't seem right about this whole situation. For instance, this is her second abusive relationship... fool me once...This is when you pray and ask God to remove from YOU the desire for a man that is going to beat that butt (<----yeah I had to clean it up a bit).

But other questionable things just kinda have me like "huh?". Like asking for $200,000 for a threshing floor (If you can't see it, you tube it):



([Isaiah 21: 9 And, behold, here cometh a chariot of men, with a couple of horsemen. And he answered and said, Babylon is fallen, is fallen; and all the graven images of her gods he hath broken unto the ground.

10 O my threshing, and the corn of my floor: that which I have heard of the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel, have I declared unto you.] - This is the only place I could find it)

Now does this really make any sense for her to ask for this? Come on. This woman paid $5,000 for a pen because she's "worth it." $5,000 for a pen? Please. Pay off my debt with that $5,000. Please AMERICA donate to the "I need to publish a book for the uplifting of women yet don't have the money to cover the fees - donate so God can bless you" fund. No, not really, but if you want too...

Now I gotta admit, "No More Sheets" was on point. Amen, amen.

If you really think that selling your story to every news station and magazine is helping women, it's not. It's just giving us a face - kick to the emotional hope that we have as women seeking stability. I wish I could sell my story about the men that hurt my heart. That way I can buy my bling too. Get my shine on.

This whole situation makes me think of the song by, of course, Parliament called "Handcuffs." Google it.

I am not one to get mixed up in peoples' relationships (1. I don't have the time and 2. It can be a sloppy mess). however, if you are in an abusive relationship, know that that is not your place as a woman (Proverbs 31), as a person, or as a child of God. There is not enough love in the world that would make a man put his hands on you or consistently speak in a condescending manner towards you. There are not enough words to express how I loathe the action of a man putting his hands on a woman for any other reason than to restrain her from hurting herself, her children, or endangering his life. This is the true "hold my piece and let the Lord fight my battle" moment or a "Be angry and do not sin" moment.

I'm just saying. I'm not knocking her walk with God, I know not what she does in her closet and I don't keep up with what she does too much in public. I know "Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets no harm." Listen, God's anointed are not just those people on the TV. AND rebuke for the kingdom is proper. AND I want to hear her prophecy. Thank YOU kindly.

And let's take a moment to mourn the loss of my nose ring in a face-washing accident. ~Ohm~

'Tis All.

Crossroads

Everybody reaches one. It's the place where right meets might. Where carnal and spiritual disagree. The place where the straight path meets the broad path. It's when the gangsta lays down the gun and the prostitute closes his/her legs. The place where the wrongs you have suffered don't even matter. Sickness of the body is only a phase. Addiction no longer has control.

The higher road is a road less traveled. The road that is not the beaten path. It's what makes you speak to those who you don't want to speak to...not act like you don't see them and pretend to be deeply immersed in something and feel like you can only be a minister to those who you feel will follow your every step. To act like you are on a golden paved road to Heaven and everybody else is walking on thorns. What makes you so much better than anyone else when you have your own issues and ordeals to deal with? No, I am not perfect. Never claimed to be- I know I got my own issues. However, when you feel like you are right and everyone else is going to hell, that's when you gotta do some self-evaluation cause my Bible says that all have fallen short. How can you tell someone they are going to hell but you're walking right next to them? But I digress.

It just plagues me how Jose really thinks that he is Jesus incarnated on Earth with 666 tatted on him and how Google tracks your every search and stores your IP address, and that information can be used to incriminate you in the court system.

It's like having a crush on someone, and having a crush on the idea of someone. I have what I like to call "forbidden fruit." It's the idea of a man that hits me in all right ways and places except for my spirit. It's my kryptonite. It results in what I call the "Eve syndrome" it looks good to the eye, satisfying going in, but the end thereof, is death. So you get to the crossroad. To do or not to do. Not. Not a back-burner babe. That's why I have a list, a very long list that is constantly changing, to avoid falling into the "forbidden fruit" trap, again. And the pimp in me just died~ But I digress.

Choices, choices, so many choices. Choose the low calories or high fat... I Eta Pi.

So I just want to say that I am sorry. I am sorry for being the bad guy. I am sorry, sorry, sorry. Whoa - major digression.

In the end though, everybody gets to a point of self evaluation. But, it's a good thing. It's where you learn about who you are and stop running. Running away, whether it's physically - by being too busy to take your mind off of the real issues, by changing your major with the wind, by changing your (wo)man with the wind, whatever - or emotionally - shutting down, denial - is avoidance. It's not until you look in the mirror, really look in the mirror, and see you for who you really are that you can take the road less traveled. Cause sometimes you reach a crossroad that you don't even know is a crossroad because no one has taken the other road in such a long time.

I think I took that road, and I have the Benadryl to prove it. Thank God for medicine.

Did I mention that God loves you and me? Jehovah-Nissi and Jehovah-Jireh.

Not just unconquered, but more than a conqueror. Amen, amen.

'Tis All.

Goodnight Moon

"And maybe and then the wind just starts to moan
Outside the door he followed me home
So goodnight moon
I want the sun
If it's not here soon
I might be done
No it won't be too soon 'til I say goodnight moon" -Shivaree, Goodnight Moon

The closer the end of my matriculation approaches, the faster I realize that I need to come up with ways not to lose my mind.

I thought about Mary Jane, but I remembered that I don't smoke. I thought about alcohol, twice. But I remembered that me and alcohol aren't on friendly terms. So, the next best thing is food, and FIKE to make up for my renewed passion in food. So I propose that FIKE places an automatic queue that is based on your time of entry. If you know that your routine is to enter, go to the treadmill, chill out on the bike, do a few seated leg presses, you should have the option to enter this data in - that way the chick who has been on the treadmill for 45 min (when the limit is thirty, are you in training for a marathon?)has an automatic cool down entered in mid jog. Yes, I know that there is a probability that she will fall of due to her lack of stamina, but really, after 45 min of running, you really shouldn't event be alive right now. Call it a favor.

So I think of new ways to think. New ways to explore the universe. New ways to broaden my horizons without broadening myself. Like trying to figure out if a cracker is just a hard cooked piece of bread, or stale bread with a few extra additives. Maybe trying to figure out if organic products are really organic. Half of the time, anything with any health additive only needs to have 10% of something in it to be considered "enriched." Half the time isn't only "partially healthy" because the healthy additive is outweighed by all the other junk in it. Like Nyquil. If you're going to take Nyquil, you might as well just take a shot and call it a night. I'd rather the shot, at least it will taste better. I'm just saying.

So, the next time you're walking on campus, and you're trying to find a better way to make you day interesting take something you see everyday and analyze it differently than how you usually do. For instance, I walk by the reflection pool a lot. Now rather than thinking of it as a degenerate cesspool of toxic waste, I see the wildlife, and appreciate the acid- I mean water- that sprays on me as I walk by on a hotter than hell day. I have yet to lose an eye, so I think it's pretty safe.



Or not. I'm just saying, don't take a dive or dip your finger in it. God didn't just trouble this water, He made it "bitter" i.e. poisonous. Don't do it.

In the end, new ways of life promote new ways of thinking which promote new educational endeavors. Save a planet and think, before you drink, before you wink. The only society that's a dead society is a stupid society. And did I mention that fear of God is the beginning of all knowledge? I'm just saying.

'Tis All.

Thanks to a really good friend...

I had the fantasy of my life today.

I saw myself riding a Harley, donned in leather with a glove and high boots. Leaning into my bike while the air caressed my curves and my helmet had a nice little picture of flames with a skull and cross-bone and a randomly placed ankh. And I popped a wheelie. Yep.

I know it seems a little odd, but this is my blog, and you can stop reading now if you want.

My bike was so smooth, black, red, and silver. And shiny. And I thought about my car, my Shadow, my little black baby. She rides smoothly enough, but I found myself placed in a position where I imagined myself revving my engine and pressing the gas to get the feel of that open aired acceleration. Driving down 123 picking up speed for no reason, then remembering what part of SC I was in and slowing back down. Not to mention "Stronger" was playing on the radio, which is already a head banger that only fueled my desire to speed up.

So... does this mean I need a stick shift? Does it mean I need an open road? Does it mean I need to be thankful for what I have yet get what I want regardless of the circumstances so that I can be free for real? I think so. There are too many unconquered territories to sit in one place reading about them. So, I think that it's almost time for the hippie in me to be embraced - for the nomad in me to look for a suitable land - for the pirate in me to tread the ocean- and for the Khemetic entity to find a better spot on the Nile. Yep.

So what's the moral of this story? Once a random old white guy starts giving you advice about catching a sugar daddy, it's time to reconsider what you're doing in life, what your priorities are, and what makes you happy. Whether it be a motorcycle or bar of chocolate, whether you're in church or at the bingo hall; whether democrat or republican, oldest or the youngest- happiness is not a destination, it's a journey.

What's your fantasy?

'Tis All.

By George, I think I've got it!

Alright, why do good girls like bad guys?

I like bad guys. Let me tell you why:

Bad guys have that middle finger to the world attitude, but they cool with it. They don't hold grudges, they don't talk about getting revenge, they don't need to. Because they already know how it's going down.

Bad guys are tatted up- I would lose my mind for a couple of tats, you hear me?

Bad guys are ripped for no reason. Running from the law will do that to you, like my almost-man. I hope he hid that shotgun.

Bad guys go to church! Yes I said it. The Bible is law for the bad guy, they know that scripture back to front and back again. And yet still, trouble manages to find them, making the good girls' lives so much more interesting.

Bad guys know how to get what they want. By any means necessary. Enough said.

Good girls want bad guys for the excitement, knowing that the new day will bring some type of interruption of everything. You know like my almost - relationship that ended abruptly due to some unforeseen jail time, that I had absolutely nothing to do with, mind you.

Good girls want the bad guy to balance them out so that they can learn the tell-tale signs when their man is messing up. Like my almost - relationship that ended abruptly due to the fact that he decided that he didn't want me talking to guys around him and I had to lay down law, with a quickness.

Good girls want that guy that is going to take them to new places. This will not be expounded upon.

In the end however, the good girl has to grow up and the bad guy eventually turns into the good guy with a scarred past or dead, but I'm hoping for the first option. The good girl gets tired of the bad guys after a while, and finally finds another good guy with a scarred past, and they accept each other for who they are, and they go on to have a blessed relationship, a hot and kinky marriage, and kids who grow up wondering why daddy be looking at momma like that. I'm just saying.

Good girls like bad guys, or just good guys with a bad past who don't equate resourcefulness with ghetto but also knows the difference between a shrimp fork and a salad fork. And can read Poe next to Pac. And know when I wanna fight or wanna be romantic, or fight while being romantic, a la Mr. and Mrs. Smith. I'm just saying.

Yes I am a good girl. Yep, yep, yep. It probably explains why I end up with bad guys. Yep, yep, yep. Ain't my type of hype, (courtesy of Full Force - or the bad guys from House Party - who look like NWA but sing like 112 or something). But in reality I like bad guys who grow up into good guys. That would be the case. Or good guys with a bad streak, as long as that bad streak isn't abusive because then I'd turn into Lorena Bobbitt or somebody strange. Maybe Angela Bassett in waiting to exhale. I shall not be moved... easily. I'm too fat.

The key issue: why do good girls like bad guys? JUXTAPOSITION (and by that I do NOT mean 69, your nasty arse).

'Tis All.

Am I Tired? Yep of you.

Ok, so it seems like this topic has been on everyone's mind.

To the men: Double standards are not what's up. "Yes, I like you and your homegirl, just trying to decide which one I like more." That's not cool. Don't do that - you're asking for that emotional charge that you all try to avoid. Especially if it ain't the right time of the month. Stop leading us on, then get mad when you don't get what you want. More than likely, me and homegirl have probably discussed you at some point and time. Heck, we might have put out an APB on you until we find somebody that we really want. I must admit, that I have passed a man in my past - but that was justified. And even if it wasn't, I didn't want the hassle anymore. And we talked about it, figured it was the best course to go, then deuces. (I still love my homegirl for that, thanks)!

To the women: Stop getting mad when your man doing wrong, seriously. He was being stupid before y'all made it official. It doesn't just stop at the "I wanna be with you" speech. Come on. Yes, I know exactly what you feel, however, nothing is ever that good. EVER. And even if it was, there is always somebody better. You don't have to settle for the "okay" because you're too impatient to wait for the best. And if he sets you up for the okie-doke, dang homie, sorry about that. That's why you should always have a back-up. If you can't beat them, join them.

So yeah, I'm trying to get over my vindictive ways... I confess, I am the reason that Brad and Jen started having problems. Angelina came later. But Brad was teasing me, and you just can't do that on television. I wanted Will Smith, but Jada threatened to stab me, and I know she used to get down with Pac before I did (R.I.P. you fine hunk of chocolate mass, the only guy who rocked a nose ring with heart), so I know how crazy she just might be. But we cool though.

Let's forget the triflin' everybody. Let's focus on the significant - like how many bars of gourmet chocolate I received in a month. Yeah, that'll do it. Feed me! How many doors did he open, and how did he make me feel when he held me just to be close to me? Dang, I forget sometimes, because I get them confused. But nevertheless, it happened. Why settle for a boy in a grown man's body when I can have a grown man. Thank God for grown men with jobs, cars, and height. Thank goodness for one night stands, test drive and don't have to buy.

Alright, alright, I kid, I kid. Sue me. Just don't shoot me, because I might come back to haunt you. But seriously, the whole courting/proper relationship thing is dead in college. The few who find it are lucky, but they usually have more problems. This is why I am not settling down (settling down, not not dating and enjoying myself) until I'm 27, or at least until I have 2 cats, so that I can be a cat lady.

So in the end, it's better to not have loved than to have loved and get sh!tted on.

'Tis All.

Let's try this again, shall we?

I am on my computer at work extremely bored out of my mind and trying to find a way to keep myself awake so I can go to sleep when I get to my room.

So I decided to write down some random things that were on my mind and see how far I can go before my head falls on my keypad:

1. If I had a dollar for every time I looked at myself, I would buy myself more food.

2. If I got paid to do absolutely nothing and have everybody do my work for me, I'd be the President.

3. If I could click my heels three times, I would be in London at a pub drinking a pint and complaining about how I can't stand the taste of beer.

4. If I had a dime for thoughts on your mind, I'd still need to borrow money.

5. If I could change one thing about this campus, I'd put a little cloud over the sun until Sept. 15.

6. If I could relive one moment again knowing what I know now, I would have keyed the other side of the truck.

7. If I could erase one memory from my mind, it would be good sex- because bad sex is erased immediately.

8. If I could experience anything right now, I'd be at Six Flags on the Ninja.

9. If I could make a wish, I'd want a magic carpet, an oxygen tank, and a monkey.

10. If I could try one thing randomly and get away with it, I'd be an assassin for the day.

11. If I had a daughter, she'd probably have a big butt and try to steal my jeans.

12. If I had a man, I'd probably cheat on him, because we wouldn't even be serious right now.

13. If I didn't have a job, I'd be broke.

14. If I had another job, I'd be on academic probation.

15. If I had furniture, I'd invite you over.

16. If Chuck Norris can do anything, is MacGyver like super-genius?

17. If I could be any villain, it would probably be Dr. Doom without the ugliness mainly because Fantastic Four is really no match for Doom, they get lucky a lot. Or I would be Dark Phoenix, get mad and consume a planet. Sounds good.

18. If I could date a comic book character, it would probably be Gambit, that delicious hunk of Creole playa.

19. If I could watch any Disney movie, it would probably be Aladdin, Mulan, or Pirates of the Caribbean.

20. If I could rewrite any Disney movie, it would Pocahontas. We all know it didn't go down like that.

21. In Road to El Dorado, why were they almost having sex in the temple?

22. If I could be any Greek goddess, I would probably be Aphrodite. Because she's hot!

23. If I could be a bad guy in a movie, I would be a vampire - I already have the teeth.

24. If I could visit Heaven for a day, I would, but I'd be scared that I wouldn't want to leave, and then die. As long as I'm going to Heaven, praise God for it!

24. If I could give any piece of advice to my friends - buy my book when it's published.

25. If I could date any guy right now, he'd probably be Hispanic, with curly hair.

26. If I could play the lead in any movie, I'd be in Clue.

27. Yes, I killed Mr. Boddy, in the study with my wit.

28. If I could wish someone to walk into the door right now, Huey P. Newton it is!

29. If I could befriend anyone, it would be Bill Gates, because Microsoft office is too expensive.

30. If I could, I'd tell you that you aren't all that... wait. I can.

31. If I could live any book of the bible, it would either be Acts or Esther.

32. If I could react one act, well, I wouldn't have spent the night.

33. If I could make one confession, I didn't tell the whole truth.

34. If I could throw something, it would be a baseball bat, as I yelled at the Umpire.

35. If I could do anything my hair right now, I'd cut it asymmetrically, dye it with blue and orange-blond thin streaks and wear big gold hoop earrings.

36. If I have anything right now, it'd be a massage.

37. If I could have theme music, it would probably be the Knight Rider theme song or Make my Funk the P-funk.

'Tis All.

George Clinton& Parliament (funkadelic)

Don't act like you all didn't know it was coming. You know I can't go a day without listening to either them or Fred Hammond. It's a must.

One of the greatest bands of all time.

I am currently Standing on the Verge of Gettin' it On with an Atomic Dog cause he likes my Rumpofsteelskin, and his Mr.Wiggles causes a Big Bang Theory because he's Not Just Knee Deep! But I must Testify that under the Flash Light the Handcuffs didn't look too bad. I went Up For the Down Stroke and he said Ride On but I was trying to avoid the Mothership Connection cause I ain't Bullet Proof. But boy oh boy, Fantasy is Reality and the Cosmic Slop makes me want to Stomp. But in the end, we were just Funkin' for Fun and I looked at him and said All Your Goodies Are Gone then he said Take Your Dead Ass Home. How Rude!

Ok. Ok. So only in my mind.

But now that you know some of the titles, and you know me, then you probably have a good idea that most of these songs have a much deeper meaning than the definition I used them (and just in case you're slow, the titles are bolded/capitalized). But you know, for people to clown on me because I bump them like Jeezy, they will surely listen to a remix of every last one of their tracks unknowingly. Yep I said it, y'all are Parliament fans (you probably seen me bounding to Atomic Dog when it's played on campus- if you don't know me, hell nah I ain't a groupie, that song is fire from the album Computer Games- hence the music video; it's on my Facebook profile). And please don't act like you weren't jamming in House Party.

Parliament make you do things you never thought, like try ecstasy. I mean if one of these guys came up to me and said "Hey lady won't you be my dog, and I be your tree and you can pee on me," (which is a real lyric), I might give that a thought. Or if he leaned over and said "We'll be going down and won't be coming up for air." Shoot no female in her right mind reading this wouldn't give that a generous amount of thought... and guys let's be real...you know if a girl told you that, you'd want it- don't front.

I mean the creative flow of these folks were off the rooftops! An album named Some of my Best Jokes are Friends- can we say 'classic'? And the UFO that descends on stage or even the large bird for Aqua Boogie (PsychoAlphaDiscoBetaBioAquaDooLoop). Who would ever think of even stringing words like that together? Newsflash, it wasn't you when you invented your internet name. A Motor Booty Affair come on, people, no matter how much you hate, you have got to give them props! Mad props, respect, and a glass of wine.

I really want to wear some of the stuff these people had on! I swear, I'd be a child of Apollo for a shiny patent-leather silver cat suit with butterfly collar and star glasses!





My gosh, I want a costume. I feel like I should be high the way I'm thinking right now. Boy oh boy, I wanna wear something shiny.

Y'all you know sometimes you feel like this (this 'fro is BANGING and is part of my inspiration):



Well, I do too. And I can listen to Parliament and then feel like this:



And everybody knows I have a thing for tall, slim built guys, so if you came up to me looking like this:



You just might get it.

*Searches for my anointing oil for my eyes, hands, and computer.*

And I could go on. But I won't.

Y'all just don't understand. Homeboy ran around in a diaper and probably got more play then most guys today. For serious. Somebody take me back like Austin Powers or the B-Day album. Just for a minute.

Did I mention that hip hop is dead? *ducks from bullets and tomatoes* So I just bypass right on by the 2000s and head right on back to the 90s and 70s/80s. I'm just saying. I shoulda been born a little earlier. That way I won't have memory of folks like Vanilla Ice and Milli Vanilli:



America, what were we thinking?

'Tis All.

This little Piggy

I was looking at the greatness of my fat in the shower and wondered to myself, what if "This little piggy" was told today from the 'hood:

Mama Pig is in the kitchen cooking a pot roast with instant mashed potatoes and frozen peas on the side. She starts to the refrigerator to use the last bit of milk that was left over from breakfast. She pulls out the milk carton and starts to pour. Nothing comes out. She thinks to herself These damn kids.

"Who drank this milk and put the empty carton back in the fridge?" Mama Pig looks around and notices that of her five children, no one answers. "I said who drank the milk and left the carton"

A small voice escapes from the corner "Tusk did Mama. I seen him do it." says Piglet holding a cordless phone to her ear.

"Man, shut up." says Tusk.

"Tusk, ain't I done told you 'bout laying on your fat, porky behind all day! Drinking up all my milk. Here take this ten and pick me up some more. And you better bring my change back!"

"Mom, why I always gotta go to the store? Piglet don't do nothing but sit around all day eating and talking on the phone. She need to go to the store too -she stay home all day. And why I gotta give you all your change, I need to get paid for doing your stupid errands."

Piglet takes the phone off her ear."Boy, you betta shut up! I ain't gotta go to no store, cause momma told you to do it. I stay home all day and help momma here. So you don't know what you talking about-"

"What you say boy? You betta watch your mouth befo' I smack the taste out of it. I ain't got time for your foolishness. I work all day, come home cook for your greedy behind- eating up all my food- and I ask you to do one thing and you act like you can't go to to the store...back talking me. Wait 'til your daddy drop off your child support! And don't be tellin' your brother to shut up neither. And clean your dern room, chile! I ain't raised you like that."

So Tusk went to the market, and Piglet stayed home.

By the time Tusk got back, the food would be cold so Mama decided to make the mashed potatoes with water because Papa Pig was about to come home any minute.

"Come on, Piglet, Boar, Hammy, and Sty! Food's ready."

Little pig Sty looked up at his mama when he came in the kitchen and said with an oink "Mama, I don't wanna eat if Tusk ain't here. Why he ain't gotta eat with us?"

SMACK.

"Now sit down and eat this roast and you better not play over your food." The other little pigs followed without a word.

The phone rings.

"Hello."

"Hey baby." It was Papa Pig. "I gotta work late tonight, could you save me a plate?"

"What you mean you gotta work late? You worked 'til midnight last night... You cheating on me? Let me find out-"

"I don't wanna go through this right now. I'll talk to you later" Dial tone. Oh no he didn't.

So the little piggies and Mama Pig had roast beef, and Papa Pig had none, and got none later.

The door opens and in walks Tusk, shoeless, wiping his face with the backs of his empty hands. "Boy what's wrong with you? I sent you out an hour ago to get my milk? And where is my milk?"

"Well," Tusk sniffed, "On my way back, I had the milk, then I seen Juju and he got this new bike. So I asked him if I could ride it. And I put the milk down and took off my shoes so they wouldn't get scuffed, and when I came back he took my shoes and the milk. Then Mrs. Jackson came out and said I stole Marques' bike, but I ain't steal nothing, so I ran."

"I just bought them shoes boy!"

"I know Mama, that's why I'm crying."

"I told you about following up with Juju. His daddy crazy, so he crazy too. Go wash your hands and sit down, and I better not hear nothin' 'bout them shoes either."

And the piggies sat down to eat. Sty was happy his brother was back. Piglet was ready to get back on the phone. The twins, Boar and Hammy threw peas at each other, and Mama Pig was boiling.

'Tis All.

Bombs away?

On a serious note:

My PWI been threatened twice in the past week with bomb threats to major academic buildings. With the removal of computers from the residence halls, the money saved can and should be used by the University to say...uhm... install a tracking device or hire somebody to find out where these email threats are coming from. I mean really, if somebody downloads a song, there's a slip delivered to the person in a timely manner usually given to your RA or attached to your door for added embarrassment. Let's up the standard PWI. I can already find the names, phone numbers, and addresses of the adoptive step-parent of every PWI student here using your handy-dandy directory *In my best blue's clues voice*, so I might as well be able to find their IP Address as well, huh?

I would feel much safer if only I didn't receive an email about these bomb threats. Let's use the sirens as an all purpose means of communication since we NEVER have severe weather. How about only sound the siren in the case of bomb threats, fires, earthquakes and increases in tuition, fees or gas prices? And not necessarily in that order. Are we really inside _____(insert name of PWI) when we receive these emails? No. Matter of fact I feel more outside than anything. "Hey student, there was a fire in the chemistry lab last night. We only had 30 lbs of Sodium stored next to a jug of water, but believe me, you guys were perfectly safe." Really? That's how you feel?

Listen, the next time I get an email about a bomb threat, I will probably send it straight to the trash can. Why? Because by the time I actually get it, the bomb would have probably went off, while I am in class because nobody delays for anything but snow under the Mason-Dixon line. But lo and behold, this is also the school who wouldn't give the students Labor day off- that is until ESPN wanted to film and decided to take away one of our fall break holidays, which we desperately need back. By the time fall break hits, I am ready to kill myself- days away from my birthday- because of school related stress.

Yay for football season? Boo to the idiots who sends bomb threats through email. Oh yeah, and I am thinking that repetitive bomb threats to a public institution is a matter for a higher level of government than the local police to investigate, don't you all agree? Maybe it's linked to the recent mistake of the financial aid dept. Maybe it's to discourage our School pride at the football game tonight. The world may never know.

'Tis All.

Flea Market Blues

The only thing better than a flea market is probably a barbershop...or sex, but that's a different issue.

Flea markets are the best thing since sliced bread and Wal-mart Supercenter. It's the only place where I can get the newest movie release, watermelon and elephant ears, a Buddha incense burner, and a puppy in one stop. I even considered a cat-o-nine tails and a Chinese "ninja-star" just because they had the sh!t. You never know who you might need to "persuade."

First and foremost-the people: Folks at flea markets are OVERLY friendly. Sometimes a little too friendly. One, they know they overcharge so they are willing to bargain with you so that the price is realistic. But when you are selling batteries for $3 (same price as Target) and you wanna sell them to me for $2, but the Chinese man near the entrance sells them for $1, then we have a problem. Two, they know that if they are selling something illegal and they don't treat you right, you'll call them out like Superhead. Yep, I'mma snitch b!tch. Lastly, they want you to buy something so they are going to convince you that you really need this plastic bag that is going to protect your sneakers from rain damage. What the hell I need that for? Shoot, I bought my Jordans from here anyway so I can just get another pair before I leave. Swoosh!

Secondly- rare items that you won't find anywhere else: Pure shea butter, not Palmer's, not a cream, but that good good [And people, if you haven't gotten on this miracle of nature... stab yourself. Shea butter will heal your stab wound- and your split ends- and cure your baby's diaper rash]. I bought a Sega game gear from the flea market. And let's not forget about that movie that you are ashamed that you know about, it's there, I saw it. And that real Gucci (shhhh- don't tell nobody). I'm just waiting for them to start selling textbooks so that I can stop paying my PWI out of my ass with my first born as collateral to take a class knowing good and well we only use that book three times a semester.

Third- FOOD: The fair only comes once a year? Not when you have a flea market nearby! Cheesesteaks, funnel cakes, turkey legs, nachos, and corndogs and chicken wings all cooked by sketchier people than those who work in Waffle House (I must address this poor excuse for a restaurant's existence soon and that of Huddle House). The grease that drips from the Polish sausages could lube my Grandma's elbows for a month (she usually uses chicken grease after she's done eating them). And hot boiled peanuts and candied nuts (no pun intended- you know who you are) are so good when you just don't know what to get, so you want to try something "safe" (as if anything is safe here). Knowing that you are going to get this fi-ya lemonade- to wash all this junk down because you are not paying $2 for water -because you are still bag-less because you just don't know what to buy while you are losing weight in this sweatshop:



is like an IRS refund check.

However, never under any circumstance, should there be a shooting due to gang related activities in or at a flea market. What do you prove by shooting at a flea market? No one who is there can really afford to pay medical bills (I know my broke self ain't) so you shooting is only going to end up with you dead (street justice). You gotta think twice before you shoot somebody in the country or the hood - somebody might surprise your ass with a blowgun and a rope out of nowhere.

And people please, for the love of DSS, keep your kids at bay while walking around in the flea market! Yes I know it's the perfect place to abandon an aggravating child, but don't do it. Because your hoodrat daughter is going to come find me of all people looking for you. I will direct her to the nearest trash can and when she looks away I will run like OJ screaming for my life; until I see that your klepto child lifted my wallet and I have to grab a belt and run after her like Dolemite. Additionally, I can't stand to see kids have temper tantrums in the flea market. It's too hot for that to occur, beat your child immediately or slip some medicine in that lemonade they are asking for. Mellow them kids out.

I'm think I'll hit up the flea market after church- I'll be saved enough to handle the evil therein.

'Tis All.

And you thought I was playing? I'm crazy...

And tired of this hotter than hell heat. Dig this: I sweat like a crackhead under pressure. A la pre-divorce Whitney Houston. I lose weight going to class. The sun beats me like my last name is Givens. Not cool. The first 15 minutes of class, I am concentrating on the fastest way to cool off. So no professor, I am not listening to a darn thing you have to say because when you see me dehydrated, passing out on your floor and gasping for air, you are continuing your lecture like I'm not dying. Do I need a football in my hand for you to offer me a drink of water?

And these severe weather sirens - they disappoint me everyday. Each time for that five minutes that I have to turn up my volume loud enough to tune out the blaring I secretly pray that it really will rain, at least you interrupted my shows for a good reason, right? Wrong. Severe weather my big black 'fro. My cheap umbrella laughed at me and said "only nine more uses to go."

And wtf feral cats on campus?!?! Forget the cats, a skunk and a squirrel tried to gang up on me last night and steal my keys. I was just doing my job. I swear the skunk had on a gold chain. This is serious, America. I'm going to put a take out plate from Harcombe on my porch cause that sh!t's dangerous to all species.

Everyone cannot be Spartans, okay? 300 was not an excuse to do something you wouldn't normally do on a sh!tty day and call it loyalty. There's a difference. You didn't do it for your boy's honor. Negro you ain't hard. You wanted her and you needed an excuse cause everybody already knows she a ho. Be a man about it- you's a ho. Somebody should hose you down. Superpoke that ho - and we'll see yoooou!

Speaking of hoes, they make life interesting. And I'll proudly tell my kids, he was almost your daddy. Glory for the almost! Amen, amen.

'Tis All.

Ode to my Cellulite

I wake up in the morning and look at myself in my full length mirror and caress my - cellulite.

Yep Yep. My cellulite.

Now, I must admit, sometimes I am in a state of constant denial about the size of my derriere (or glutes, superimposed by a layer of fat), being at least ten inches bigger than my waist(super duper imposed). However I cannot deny, as my rear end knocks over paper and pencils as I walk through isles, the fear that an eraser might accidentally get stuck in one of my nooks or crannies camouflaged by my jeans.

And whoever created space efficient chairs were not considering those of us subject to the disposition of the derriere because my thighs spill over the sides like country gravy on a biscuit - on a saucer. I should not have to shake to sit down and be comfortable because I do enough of that trying to get dressed in the mornings in addition to the once a month visit by the devil himself.

Cottage cheese ain't got nothing on me. From what I hear, it doesn't have much taste unless you eat it with fruit. While I am not affording anybody the opportunity to taste, I think I got mad flavor. Like Focaccia bread.

I looked at it one time in just the right light, and I could have sworn I saw the Virgin Mary.

I'm obsessed with my cellulite and they want me to go to rehab, but I say no, no, No. I love my booty, just a little jiggle but a whole lot of wiggle.

I'm hitting the gym though eventually, to smooth it out, trying catch up to Buffie the Body and Ki Toy. Bounce a nickel, sit a cup - or carry a lunch tray. I got you. Plus, I heard they make good money at Magic City.

'Tis all.

Back to School Again

So.

Classes started today. This is probably the only day of the entire year that all the black people on the campus of PWI get along with each other. The birds haven't marked anyones cars yet and everyone is chilling at the on-campus-deemed "block". The sun is beaming and every time you ask someone how they are doing they say "hot". Or hated on - because they really want you to ask them how their lives are so much better than yours. Not happening. Now not saying that I am mad that black people are talking - by all means, power to the people- but let's be real. Just keep it moving, like you said you would on Facebook.

Now, the worst part of a new school term are the homeless people. Yes. I said it. Homeless bums. I was putting up fliers for the new sensation that has hit my area, namely, myself, when a 48 years old homeless man walked across the street smoking a cigarette, carrying a plastic bag, and asked me if this area was only for students. Well damn, I thought I was on a college campus, but I could have been wrong - I lose touch with reality sometimes.

So he proceeds to tell me his life story - about growing up in NY and serving in Korea, then how his mom doesn't want him around and how growing up he had girls throwing themselves at him - between puffs on a 'rette that he had to hold because he was missing every last one of his teeth.

Now I am not one to be rude. I lie. I am one to be rude. So I am trying not to laugh at him, because my teeth aren't straight, but I HAVE teeth. And despite the fact that he kept asking me about myself like I was really going to entertain him, he kept talking. He was really trying to get at me when CLEARLY he just told me he was homeless which equals broke, and 48. What do I say to that? Get a job, build up a 401 (k) or (c), wait 40 years - not 20 not 30- but 40 years, then propose to me. By that time my man will be acting up and I can live off of your money. Anything else would be uncivilized.

'Tis all.

Homewreckers

This is my open hand. This is the back of my hand. And THIS is the back of my hand getting acquainted with the homewrecker's (hereby known as HW) face. Please stand in queue >here< to meet my fist.

I cannot stand these trifling, shiftless, greedy females that feel that destroying homes is an art form. It should not be perfected. They should be ashamed of themselves. Not only are they making themselves look utterly ridiculous, but they make it hard for real women that just say no. She is the one cooking for your man when he is on punishment for something ignorant he did. She is also the one telling your man how good he is during sex, and he's probably doing something that you had to teach his dumb behind over the course of a few days.

Now, I myself like to categorize these hookers - I mean HWs - into three categories: the unknowing HW, the accidental HW, and the willing HW.

The unknowing HW I can forgive. This is the nice wholesome girl who is in a relationship with the perfect man. She just doesn't know that her perfect man is your man and probably someone else's man because he is trifling and deserves an open-handed slap in the face. This is the instance in which you both find out that your man is SNAKING. Unknowing HW, I feel you, I was there with you. Please know that the trifling man in your life has his time coming, you just might need to give that time a nice little shove in the right direction. You receive the 'Get out of jail free card' from me personally. One time use only, don't make this a habit.

The next category is the accidental HW (A.Hw) . This is the one that sleeps with your man knowing that he is yours but actually feels remorse about her actions and therefore gets half a cool point. I know you shaking your head but hear me out on this. This random act of sluttery is completely unplanned, enjoyable, but only happens once. The event then falls into the back of their minds like dating the guy with the horse teeth or making out with your cousin - it just didn't happen. Neither one of them expects anything from the other but to see each other at work the next day. The A.Hw is extremely rude and shady and it's official, she deserves to get wrecked. She's probably feeling bad about it anyway. Life goes on.

The most hated, vile creature that makes me want to pull her card in public and beat her like the dog that she is, is the willing HW (W.H). This chick is crazy and her actions warrant a foot to her face. Marked by her persistence, she usually accidentally runs into your man in a public place where he is trying his best to refrain putting her on blast, and constantly reminds him of what they used to have, brushing up against him and slipping her number in your man's pockets - because if you and your man are as tight as he says, your probably going to find her number and give him hell for it. This is what that scheming female wants. She is usually an ex with baggage, one with a baby, or one who has met the parents. The W.H. and your man probably have a mutual friend, you. She has no standards and is willing to put herself out there for the sole purpose of destroying your relationship. The sad part is, it isn't even about your man, it's all about her and her low self-esteem and how much she is jealous of you. The W.H can meet my fist at any given time. Any given time.

Keeping your home HW free is crucial to survival:

1. If your man does something stupid, don't get mad, don't cry, don't fuss. Smile as hard as you can and ask him if he is hungry. Cook a nice juicy steak - carve slowly.
2. You caught your man looking at another girl on the strip. Don't catch an attitude. Smile. because her boyfriend was just eying you and therefore you look so much better. And the guy a block ahead of you thinks so too, just let him know.
3. Buy the HW a hitchhiker's guide and send her on her way. Direct signs needed, this chick doesn't understand clues. Something ending in "or else" doesn't work. Be specific.

Homewrecker, thy name is weed, the only thing you're doing is aggravating me and I am about to cut you. 'Tis All.