He Likes Cracks, Not Cooters

So, I met this guy when I was 26 years old. And what I loved most, he had so much soul.... This guy was great. My dream. Tall and brown.

One great sense of humor. Check
Two degrees. Check.
Three Piece suit and impeccable taste. Check.
Four vehicles: two cars, a motorcycle and a boat. Check.
Five star restaurants and vacation spots. Check.
Over six feet tall. Check.
And, he was fine. Not no ordinary fine. Like a, not surpassed, but lapped Boris, Morris, and Micheal Jordan in '93 type of fine.

One catch, though. Just one.

And, before you jump to conclusions, yes he had a high FICO score. But back to the catch. And it came in the form of minor, teeny, small detail. He slipped up. He uttered the word "divo" in reference and reverence to Dwight Eubanks from RHOA.

Yep. You guessed it: HE'S GAY!

There went my dreams of a huge, Kimora Lee-style walk in closet. My visions of perfectly coiffed children with creative-chic names like Falcon and Sparrow. My chance at what could have been my Barack. My ticket out of Oklahoma. My future husband that would be okay with me keeping my last name. Poof. Gone. Gone into the depths of the tunnel of darkness that is anal play.

That's what I get for having respectable standards. If  I'd had hoodrat expectations, I'd have a straight man. Someone who's always home, because he's mooching off me. I wanna get married in nine yrs, I gotta start getting serious. And because of his affinity for peepees and not vajayjays, I have to start from scratch. I give up. He needs a beard, and I'll be that stoic partner that stands by his side when he gets caught in public restrooms with a barely legal boy toy and a pocket full of meth.

So, yeah. I'll marry a gay! We can have a life of wonderful dinners, imperially decorated homes, designer duds, great conversation, cuddle to watch Sex & the City on DVD together...as long as I get first dibs on that barely legal boy toy.

Girl, U so Wise!

I moved to Dallas in January, only to move back home in September after losing my job before the three month mark. The number one thing I learned was:
Wait ninety-ONE days before you brang yo' sh*t to another state!!!

(See the post below)

Just wanted to pass on that little pearl of wisdom, chil'ren! Now, let me go get ready to snap for the kids!

Damn Canadians!

I swear, some days I feel like I live in Canada. I relocated to DFW area, and I'm temporarily setting up shop in Plano. Why does it take me 20 mins to get to far north Dallas? No, that's not a rhetorical questions. I don't know; you tell me. That's why I asked. It takes me like 35-40 mins just to go do hoodrat stuff with my friends. That's a no go for me, as I need my hoodrattedness to be close by, preferably within walking distance. And, yes, I know this is neither funny nor well thought out, but this is my blog & I do what I want!

Girl, U So Stylish!

Though the leggings trend is on its way out, my vision still being wronged on a daily basis. There are so many fashion offenders and victims that fall by the wayside as a result of this fad that I often ask the Lord, "Why has thou forsaken me!?! What did I do wrong to deserve having this nylon-spandex atrocity dance before my eyes?"

Don't get me wrong. There are times that leggings as spandex pants look good. Real good. Megan Good, good. But the realities of life don't allow me to enjoy a view like that. I'm stuck watching a Mary Gordon instead of a Megan Good; a Holly Bear instead of Halle Berry. Why?

Why, why, why?

I saw a woman earlier today with a cute sweater and boots on, paired with those damned leggings. It would have been acceptable had she not been shaped like an apple with two straws sticking out of the bottom. And, that wasn't even the worst part. What is even more disturbing than leggings on the wrong body type are leggings that the wearer isn't aware that the "pants" are more like "pantyhose" and that I can see straight through said leggings down to the granny panties, Spanx, or God forbid, butt pads, beneath them.

Ladies, stop it.

That is all.

The Black Guy Uniform

I am so TIRED of seeing guys in striped polo shirts. Do the make any other style other than horizontal stripes? You know what: it doesn't matter because I detest them all. I don't understand the mass appeal of these garments. It's like bees to honey, mice to cheese, flies to a picnic. Is there some unwritten clause in the Black Guy Code of Ethics under the Grooming tab that instructs all uninformed Black guys over the age of 14 that they, too, should be wearing a horizontally striped polo shirt at EVERY outing? And, don't start with that "it's universal and comfortable" mess! I'm not buying it! These tops are everywhere: the pulpit, the job interview, the club, the grocery store, even private school. Somebody please break this generational curse that began in 1996! I can't even look at this pic. I want to slap that smug, "it's-so-no-fuss-and-stylish" smirk right off his face. Ugh.

Doin' the Butt!

People do the darndest things after they've taken a few (or twenty) swigs of an adult beverage. I was at a wack-as-hell new year's eve party, but was fortunate enough, in my bored and unimpressed state, to get pushed by THE drunkest girl in the party. This girl made sure she was the life of the party. She cleared a spot on the dance floor via flailing her arms like a frazzled soccer mom and gave us a show more exciting than the midnight countdown. Drunk Homegirl started doing dances I hadn't seen since my fast 14-year-old cousin taught them to me when I was eleven in '94. Kids, I'm talking the Dog, the Running Man, and of course the highlight: the Cry Baby!

But hey, at least she entertained herself and other party goers that night. Watch and be made whole, children.

Why, Lord, Why?!?

The heat decides NOT to swelter when I get the air conditioner in my car fixed.
Wasting my dang money! If I had known this, I coulda let it ride out 'til fall...smh

Temperature's Rising...!!

It is so hot I wanna slap somebody. This sweltering heat is ungodly. There is no reason for me to walk out of my house and have my mouth go dry. I shouldn't have to wait 20 minutes for the air in my car to start cooling off because it's 107 degrees and rising.

I thought about going to the pool to cool off, to feel the water swirl around me and engulf me in coolness as engage in a lazy backstroke....BUT NO! What is the point of going in 85 degree water? I guess I can't complain because 85 is a helluva lot cooler than 105!

Even at night there is no break. Last night it was 95 at 10 p.m. Why, Lord, why? Is this our punishment for throwing trash on the ground in giant landfills? I'm saddened. I can't cope, but I should be used to this type of menacing heat by now.

I suppose I'll keep a bottle of 80 degree water by my side at all times in case my mouth goes dry again.