A rose by any other name…

I don’t like to trivialize my faith, but it is a Biblical fact that what you name your child matters. Some names have clear and obvious meanings like Hope, Faith, Joy, Hunter, and Jesus. Others just carry personal meaning. Both my children are named after important people in our lives.  I am convinced that Tameka secretly means skinny girl with a bad attitude because that describes every Tameka I have ever met. It may also mean crazy as bats in bright light.

JJ Santana - “I don’t like girls with stripper names”

Jigga – “Summer” She is also not down with dating guys born under the Leo sign, but she will make the sacrifice to date a guy named Leo if his last name is DiCaprio.

Mallow – reports “Until 2009 girls named Tiffany” made her list of don’t likes. I, myself, don’t like the Tiffani. There is something about the i that just changes the tone and doesn’t work for me.

The name Princess is a perfect example. I am sure people use it thinking that their baby girl will be like Cinderella, Aurora (Sleeping Beauty), or more recently Princess Tiana, but I have never in my life met a girl named Princess who looked like one. They all look a little off, which may be fitting considering most royals are inbred.

Think about it for a minute and you too will admit that there are some names that just rub you the wrong way. It is usually because of past interactions. While I never would have picked my LoLo Monster’s first name on my own I did not protest because it brought back memories of how the cute/cool boy in class always had that name. The name did not disappoint. My son is gorgeous and his personality constantly draws a crowd. He is remarkably comfortable in his skin and like his Biblical namesake, he is stubborn and hard to redirect once his mind is made up. My sweet Suga Buga is named after two very strong willed women and once she gets started there is no turning back. She makes sure that you always know exactly how she feels. Just ask the nurse who had the audacity to disturb her peace by giving her two vaccine shots yesterday. I heard she tore the roof of that joint.

Despite my past attraction to guys named Jason, I can say with full certainty that in my case they do not make good boyfriends. Janaan + Jason = Unholy union of crazy, cheating and drama. It makes for great war stories, but not for good day to day real life. Most Katrina’s I know are man-crazy. Brenda’s are loyal. David’s make great friends. Phillip’s are usually cute and charming, but beware because they are often cheaters. Michael’s have a good sense of humor. Daryl’s are socially awkward, but great if you have the patience to get to know one. Ryan’s are CHEAP. Christopher‘s are sensitive mama’s boys and I mean that in the nicest way possible. All Kia’s, Nia’s and Tia’s are fun to hang out with. Amanda’s can go either way. They are either awesome or BIPOLAR CRAZY. There is no gray area and it does not take long to figure out which one you are dealing with.

I know it may seem wrong to judge people on what feels like a shallow level, but you are already doing it. Why not just admit it? Parents think before you name your kid. Is this a name that they can really live up to? Do I want my kid to turn out like that person I sat next to in math class? Do you remember the name of the kid who used to eat their buggies, or paste, or chew their eraser? I do. His name was Daryl. You can rest assured that Daryl is not LoLo’s real name. Your name says a lot about who you are. Even if your parents just did a word scramble of their names. That alone says that you were raised by crazy self-centered jerks that cared more about their amusement than giving you a suitable moniker and that you probably inherited some jacked up DNA.

With that said I know there are some people that I know from our introduction I will not get along with. Tameka’s of the world I am talking to you.

No Money, Mo Problems

 Biggie LIED! It's not Mo' Money, Mo' Problems. MY problem is I have NO money.

I have recently been baffled by something that I keep noticing. People, who clearly make less money than I do, but seem to be able to afford more luxury items than I can. I don’t knock them and I don’t want to take that away from them. I just want to understand how, so maybe I can live large too.

How is it that you work at the local coffee house with 2 kids, a house, and the lot yet can afford to keep your nails done and hair on point when I make significantly more, have a husband to split the bills with and have not had a haircut in months because I cannot fit it into the budget. How is that possible?

I remember being in college and my roommate and I shaking down the sofa cushions in the lobby for change so that we could order food. I also remember the pained look on the delivery man’s face when we paid in change. He knew that getting a tip from people who just paid in nickels was not likely. I think back and remember that the reason we did not have food money is because we had just spent all our money on our club outfit. Eating wasn’t important and besides the last thing you need to do is eat a full meal before trying to zip up tight leather pants and a halter top.  It did not matter if we were living off of Ramen and popcorn. Just because we weren’t living “champagne wishes and caviar dreams” didn’t mean we had to look like our “ginger ale reality and spam nightmare” Looking good was our priority.

I was a teenager then, so, I guess that attitude makes sense, but these are adults. How is it that they are making it happen with so little. I have a couple thoughts. My first thought is that maybe they save up and spend their money on investment pieces. Expensive things that they can use over and over again. For example, I have a friend who saved and saved to get the Louis V billfold wallet. She knew that she would get years of use out of it and therefore felt it was worth it. I have friends who have applied the same logic to Coach purses and expensive BCBG suits and Donna Karan work wear. These friends are also known to follow people into alleys in Chinatown to get a good deal if you know what I mean. They are not above merchandise that “fell” off the truck. (*On a side note that reminds me of another thought. I don’t know anyone who has worked at Macy’s that does not steal. What is that about? Is that why I can’t get a sales associate? Are they all in the back stealing? Is that why the price is so inflated? I am I paying for loss prevention?)

However, it is the other group that I find most intriguing. I think there are some people who are still living the teenage/college experience of fashion over food and bling over necessities. They are permanently stuck in the childish mindset of style over substance and have no concept of delayed gratification. I have had clients like this. They complain that they have no money and live off of disability, but have French tips, a fresh weave, a smart phone and a cigarette habit.  I know some of these people personally, as well. They have to get dressed before sunset because instead of paying the light bill they bought that new VerSACE (a la Showgirls) – “he’s my favorite”. You know the type – carrying food stamps in a Chanel bag!

Case in point, I recently volunteered at a free health clinic that had a small free clothing distribution station. I worked in that area because I am of little use to people in need of medical care. A woman came in with her family and demanded to know if we had any name brand clothes and then became agitated because we did not have any designer labels in her size. “You don’t have any name brand?” My response, “Yes, all these clothes have labels in them.”

I could not believe this woman was questioning us about labels at a FREE CLINIC.  Either you take it or you don’t, but to complain like you’re at Saks is ridiculous. Here I am on the brink of madness because I am trying to figure out what else I can cut out the budget so that I can send my kids to school. Excluding the 4 things I bought to get me through the maternity clothes to regular clothes transition, I have not bought myself an outfit in over a year and she is trippin’ over the lack of Baby Phat. “For REAL, lady?” Did I mention this is a free clinic

Reflection/ Yo Mama

I want to take just one paragraph to reflect on Friday’s post and some of the feedback I have received. Husband thinks that maybe some of my feelings are exaggerated by my low job satisfaction. I think he may have a point, however, I did not have low job satisfaction until all of this began. Throwing your coffee card at me, listening to my conversations, and insinuating that I may have some type of learning disorder are good ways to destroy morale. The next question is why have I not complained? I have. I have complained to HR who suggested that I talk to the people with a neutral party as a witness, as long as it did not have to be her. I wish someone would tell me the point of taking work environment related complaints to HR if the HR Director has no interest in being the impartial listener.  She suggested one of the offending party’s friends. Upon realizing I was in on this alone, I decided to wait until my exit interview.  I will however apologize about the Sambo reference. Maybe they are having a totally different experience than I am and actually are content. If so, good for them.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled program.  I was driving in this morning and thinking about Yo Mama jokes. I used to love listening to my friends play the dozens. I was never good at it because I am not that good at throwing out random insults. I am good at making fun of what people are actually doing, but not so much at just thinking up mean spirited quips. So I started trying to think of some and remembering a couple of favorites. Here they are…

Mine

Yo mama is so dirty that the roaches packed up and left when they saw her move in.

Yo mama is so ugly her nickname is ipecac.

Yo mama is so ugly she had to sneak up from behind in order to catch the Holy Ghost.

Old favorites

Yo mama is so fat she sat on rainbow and made Skittles.

Yo mama is so old she farted and dust came out.

Yo mama is so old she was a waitress at the Last Supper.

Yo mama is so bald she took a shower and got brainwashed.

Yo mama is so dumb she thought giving it up in a phone booth made her a call girl.

Accidentally Racist?

“You look like an Egyptian princess with your hair like that.” I turned and see my boss looking very pleased with the “compliment” she has just given me and in a tone that I hope conveyed my feelings of both confusion and disgust I responded with a tentative “thank you?” In order to understand my feelings you must know that this is the same boss you speaks disparagingly about homosexuals and has told me that President Obama “hates white culture and never tells people that he is white”. She is also the same person who told me I would enjoy reading the book The Shack, not because it was a compelling take on faith and forgiveness, but because “he writes God as a black woman”. She has also been a participant in some of those infamous “you people” conversations in which my white bosses try to better understand the choices of an individual black person as a reflection of the group as a whole.

Today’s interaction, much like those others often leads me to the same question. Is it possible that these people don’t know that what they are saying is racist or at the very least ridiculous? Could it all just be an accident or some gargantuan misunderstand? I doubt it. Most of the time I think to myself, “These people need to thank God for Jesus” because regardless of whether or not they believe they need to be glad I do because that is the only thing keeping me from turning this place into the Amistad.

My boss has never been to Egypt and other than the bust of Nefertiti has probably never seen and Egyptian “princess”. For the record, Nefertiti was an Egyptian queen not a princess. I have no idea where in Africa my blood line traces and if it does lead to Egypt I will be more than proud to claim that cultural heritage, but what Egypt is she talking about? Is it the Egypt with Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra? I’m just curious why I couldn’t just “look like a princess”. I don’t have on any “ethnic” jewelry or a head wrap. What is Egyptian about my look?

I mean really. Some days I feel like Denmark Vesey up in this piece. (Look him up…it will be worth it.) Except I know the people who would turn me in. I wish they were Uncle Tom’s because at least Uncle Tom knew to keep his mouth shut. These fools are more like Sambo – the loyal and contented servant. That ain’t me. I am looking to get my freedom papers.

*8/29 Addition
I think that my anger was initially sparked the night before when I watched a piece of what I think is called Dance Moms. My first thought was how can this very overweight woman be the dance coach. Then I hear the one black mother complain about the jungle themed outfit her daughter had to wear and her song choice of "LaQueefa". She made it worse by asking the mom if she had an afro wig. Really? Why would she just be carrying an afro wig? Why would she need an afro wig? All the LaQueefa's I know rock the wavy weave anyway.
Then when talking to camera the "coach" stressed that it was important for Nia to get the "ethnic" dance moves. She just kept assuring the mother that it would be good and showcase her being different than the other girls. The mother seemed rightly disturbed by the stereotypical undertones, but for some reason went along with it. After seeing a dance that consisted mainly of walking and booty-popping the mom had had enough and confronted the "dance coach" about the negative racial stereotyping. Not only did this woman admit that it was stereotypical, but then for all intent and purpose said that she would have done a better job if she were being paid more. WHAT?

Her whole argument was that if someone were looking for a person of color then she would get the job. What about showcasing her talents in such a way that she would be considered for more than just the token black girl role. I guess that never occured to her. I'm sure it was just an oversight, right?

The Voice

I used to work with a girl that reminded me a lot of Christina Ricci. She had a face like a kewpie doll and the body of a pocket sized Jessica Rabbit. The thing I remember most about when I first met her was her voice.  You would think from the description it would have been honey sweet and smooth or have that seductive Demi Moore rasp, but that was not it at all. When she opened her mouth it sounded like Fran Drescher had been drinking 180 proof through a 2 pack a day filter. It was fun to watch people’s faces when they would first hear her speak – especially guys. They would smile and ask a question and you would slowly watch it turn from smile, to horror/confusion, to curiosity. Is she kidding? Is she really a he? Does she have a cold? She later explained that it was the result of having scarlet fever twice when she was a child. Her vocal cords were permanently damaged, but that didn’t make the reaction any less funny.

In 1986 at 5’10”, 235lbs with a 71” reach Iron Mike Tyson was the most dangerous man to cross the ropes, that all changed when he gave his heavyweight champ victory interview. From that moment on fearing him became “ludicrous” and people made fun of him even though we all knew that one hit could at the very least knock you out. Michael Jackson is another one.  I am sure it must have been hard for him to come to terms with becoming a man in the spotlight after everyone fell in love with him as a boy, but that weird whisper voice was not the sound I expected from the man belting out Thriller.

Be honest, you have spoken to people on the phone and been surprised to meet them because they looked nothing like you expected. My husband has a very deep voice. He has gotten a lot of comments about it. He has heard it all. People have joked that he sounds like the guy who would host the “Midnight Love” segment on the radio, but my favorite was the woman who based solely on the sound of his voice whispered “I love you” when she thought he had hung up the phone. She has no idea what he looks like – although he is a hottie!

My little nephew was born with the Barry White tone. People used to call just to hear him talk on the phone. Imagine a 2 year old growling his words. We used to joke that after puberty his voice was going to be so deep that it would be inaudible. Then he went to school and realized that none of the other little boys sounded like him so he started trying to sound like them. Now he sounds like Peter Brady from the “Time to Change” episode. It is kind of cute because I can’t wait for the day he realizes that his real voice will make him a hit with the ladies. He also has no idea that having cute curly hair is a plus either. As of know his brothers make fun of him for having hair “like Grandma”. Ahhh…sweet innocence.

I digress. What about accents? Like the first time you meet someone that you think is from another country and they start talking with a Southern drawl. That sweet little old lady in front of you who starts yelling in another language and even though you are not sure about the translation you know she is cursing. You can’t say that she didn’t catch you off guard.

My real question is how to handle the shock of jacked up voices. I know that laughing is not appropriate. Am I supposed to pretend like I don’t notice? I mean, really. The person has to know. I can’t be the first one to have noticed that the face and the voice are not a match. What do you do?

Never Go Viral

When I first started this blog my goal was to be 100% honest and transparent. I was going to use it to get all of my thoughts out in a forum that would provide the cushion of anonymity. I would be free to say whatever I wanted however I wanted. I now see that I may have a problem. Unlike my first blog, I have told all my friends about this site.

Can I really talk about what I think and how I feel knowing that they are reading? Most of what I talk about is gleaned from my conversations with them anyway. I typically keep them out and just write the thoughts I hold on the periphery, but what would happen if I went deeper. Could I really talk about the things that are on my mind without getting them all upset? Am I clever enough to make fun of my friends without setting off all their alarms or drawing the attention of others? Does joking about what my feelings about their life stuff constitute as putting their business in the street? What is a girl to do? It may sound silly, but I know that people will be trying to figure out who is who.

Not that my friends don’t know how and I think and feel about important topics, but I filter my responses because I am known to be a little harsh otherwise. Everyone says the internet emboldens you, but it scares me. You can never take back the words that you say. Maybe I should start blending people together. Who am I fooling? I can barely keep my thoughts straight as is. I know I can’t handle some crazy coding system.

The question is simple: How far am I willing to go? Do I want Chyna and Mallow to know how I feel about their relationship status? Can I joke about friends I think should get divorced, married, new jobs, better clothes? Can I get say online what I say to them on the phone? I mean really, how long will it take for Bandit to remember why that would be her blog name? I have a whole supporting cast of crazy that I have not even begun to discuss. JJ will totally know if I talk about her, but will she be flattered or offended?

Maybe I should have made my blog about baking or the trouble I am having getting my new business off the ground. Maybe it should have been about my futile struggle to find a new job while dealing with a job that makes me literally want to cry every time I get in my car because I hate it so much. Maybe it should have been about how cute my kids are. I could have written about any number of things, but as anyone who knows me will tell you there is no topic I love more than “ME”! I love to talk about me. I love to hear about me. I love for things to revolve around me. A place all about me is hard to come by when you are married with 2 kids and all kinds of other responsibilities. So I created this blog to be a place for me and my thoughts. Now other people and their feelings are encroaching on the last frontier of my “me” space. Woe is me!

At first my only concern was how I would get more readers. I decided to send a link to my friends and ask them to follow and pass it on to their other friends. Truth be told, I never expected most of them to read it. Just to spread the word so that I could get more looks and possibly some clicks on the ads to make a little extra change. (That might not be pretty, but it is true.) My friends, of course, did not do that. Like most friends they never do I what I think they should, but I love just the same. Most of them just bookmarked the page. So I don’t have more followers, but now they actually read it. Why couldn’t they treat it like one of those chain emails they send me all the time? Just pass on the link and keep it moving. What is the matter, guys? Are you scared I will embarrass you with my crazy ranting? You think I will spill the beans or that someone will figure out which one you are? Well, that won’t be a problem now. Since it is just us, I plan on letting my hair down.

If you don’t tell anyone it’s you, I won’t either and we can focus on what matters – ME!

Big Ole Butt

“Never trust a big butt and a smile. That girl is poison. She’s dangerous.” Even at 9 years old I knew that I was going to be the girl they were talking about. I knew I was going to have a nice butt and where I come from a nice butt is a big deal. I was right. Trust me; there is no joy in being a black girl without a nice booty. I’ve seen it and it is not pretty. I have brothers and cousins and I have heard what they say. A cute face is nice, but the booty is a deal closer.

That scene in Beauty Shop is real. You know the one where Queen Latifah asks if the jeans make her butt look big and her daughter says, “Yes” and she says, “Good” and walks out. That is how my cousin picks her clothes. I didn’t know there was any other way until I went to college and heard girls lamenting over having a big butt. Ha. Ladies, a big butt is not a curse if you know how to work it. Once you get the right switch in those hips you can conquer the world.

Think about it for a minute. Kim Kardashian has built a whole career on her big fat fanny. Sir Mix-a-Lot owes whatever career he has to his love of a good “back”.  Jennifer Lopez, Nicki Minaj, Lisa Raye, Buffy “The Body”, Karrine Steffans, Coco, Amber Rose, and even Stacy Dash owe a part of their fame to looking good from behind. 2 Live Crew made their entire careers off of booty music. Even Sisqo got in on the action with the Thong Song. You don’t hear people singing about bras, do you?

The greatest party scene in the history of cinema is the party from School Daze (Animal House is a close second, but their party looks like you might need a tetanus shot later and that is not sexy) and what song is playing in the background? “Da Butt”. Teddy Riley summed up what all the guys in my neighborhood were thinking with the line “All I wanna do is zoom-a-zoom-zoom- zoom and a boom-boom - JUST SHAKE YA RUMP” That song is a party starter. You can even say that and get a laugh, but go somewhere other than a strip club telling a girl to JUST SHAKE YA TITS and see where that gets you.

I first realized the power of the butt when I was in junior high. I look young for my age and always have. Older boys hardly ever paid that much attention to me when I would be out. They would see me coming, smile and go on about their business. That is until I would walk past. I would get about 3 feet ahead of them and inevitably hear, “Aye oh, wait up.” My sister has one too and I have seen her stop traffic and cause at least one motorcycle accident just by walking down the street.

What is it about the booty? I think it is because a good booty doesn’t sag. My mom is officially a senior citizen, but her back yard is still “bangin’ like a Benzie”.

It is a mistake to think that you have to be fat to have a big butt. I mean has anyone looked at Serena Williams. That girl is fit, but her backside has made Jamie Foxx sing to her twice at the ESPN Awards. A nice booty is not sloppy. It doesn’t keep shaking when you stop, but it should shake.

Don't get me wrong, there are some downsides. My skirt will never be the same length in the back as it is in the front. I may never find a pair of vanishing edge panties that actually vanish and will never be able to pick something up off the ground without drawing attention to myself, but I would not trade it for the alternative.

I went to undergrad at a mostly white school and the semester after BET started coming with basic cable package was the same summer the song “Shake It Fast” came out and I received more invitations out in one week than I had the whole year before. Why is that? Because they had been introduced to booty music, seen the video and were now in love. That is what a nice derriere will do. Remember “even white boys have to shout.”

**Butt Test – If you really want to test whether you have a big butt I will show you how. Get a friend. Press your back against the wall as hard as you can until you are as flat against the wall as you can be without bending. Then have your friend try to stick his/her arm in the space that the small of your back should create. If they can get their hand through with ease then you have a big butt. If not shut up and do some squats!

Is Husband a Hypocrite?

I told you a little about the house I grew up in, but there is more. Husband loves to make fun of the number of locks and the bars. He swears my parents must have been in protective custody. I am about to explain our locks and bars. Try to take it all in. It is okay to tell you know because I am pretty sure my cousin changed all the locks when we sold him the house. If not, all I can say is “Ooops, my bad.”

In order to come into the front of our house a person would have to come through two doors. The screen door used to be a metal frame with metal 1/4 of the way up and then glass with a metal divider. It had one of those handles with the big button and the flimsy little ticker switch to lock and unlock it. It was typical early 80’s. That broke before I went to junior high and we got a new door. The new door is what my husband encountered. It was wrought iron with that bullet proof glass plastic on the inside. It did not come with that glass/plastic insert. My mother changed it after I locked myself out of the house one day and busted through the wire screen to let myself back in. That lock had to be turned twice to the left in order for the door to open.

Next there were 3 locks on the main door. The top lock was unlike any most people have ever seen. I thought it was normal because it had been there my whole life. It was a dead bolt with a round key with a notch at the top. Kind of like the ones you see used for safes and office cabinets. My husband says it looks like the keys they used to use to for “The Club” to keep people from stealing your car. That went twice to the right. Then there was another dead bolt. Once to the right. Lastly, there was the lock for the actual doorknob.

The side door also had two doors. The screen was that typical 80’s white door with the big button handle, but the interior door was like the front door. This door, however, only had 2 locks. One deadbolt and one doorknob.

We had a backdoor, but we never used it. It was more of a storm door coming off the basement than anything else. The door to the basement from the house had a chain lock like the ones they used to have in hotels. If you made it into our basement we had an accordion gate in front of the storm door that had a padlock connecting the gate to the wall. Then the storm door was locked from the outside with a chain and huge Master Lock the size of a softball. All those locks coupled with the bars on the windows and the thorn bush at the front of the walkway lead my husband to declare our house the least welcoming on the block. “Nobody in, nobody out.” “I’m glad nobody was ever chasing you home.” “Be honest, do you all have warrants” What kind of bomb shelter is this?”

I laughed, but when we got married and moved into our house I noticed that he wasn’t slacking in his security paranoia either. I walked in one day to find him shopping on the internet. I love all kinds of shopping and asked what he was looking for. He said he was looking for something for the house, but nothing looked like décor so I walked away and never thought of it again.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up a few weeks later to find him drilling holes in the floor by the front door for a kick plate. “I already did the one for the back door!” He was smiling and looking pleased with himself. “What is that?” “If someone comes and tries to get in or kick in the door this will stop it, because it can handle up to 1,000 lbs.” Who does he think is trying to battering ram into our house? Then, a couple days after that I see that he has added another latch to the door leading to our garage. I notice it looks like the latch that they now use on hotel doors. You know, like the one they use instead of the chain. Déjà vu! Then he pops another box and it has these doorstops on sticks that he propped against another door that will keep people from busting in there.

I am really glad that he wants to keep his family safe and considering how I grew up I don’t mind, but doesn’t this mean he has to eat a little crow about my childhood “compound”

Horrible Parenting

 There are days where I feel like the worse parent in the world. Yesterday was one of those days. I got up and got ready to meet with a school that we are considering for LoLo Monster. I put on the accessories and make up in an effort to look like a responsible parent. I looked like the person I remembered from before having kids, which usually makes for a good first impression. He really wants to go to school and I am sure that my mother could use a break from watching 2 children. I had already decided to go without him because he woke up coughing and sneezing with a runny nose the day before. With that thought in mind I took he and his sister to Grandparent Day Care. My LoLo was dressed in his baseball uniform pajamas and carrying his 2 new favorite books. He was ready for a day of relaxing.

I arrive and my mother convinces me that since he is not sneezing I should get him ready and take him because it would be great for them to meet him. Looking back, I think she was trying to get a few more minutes of peace and I don’t blame her. A recovering 3 year old is not a good time. I pack him in the car and by the time we are half way there he starts sneezing and snotting all over my back seat. I pass a handful of tissues and hope for the best. I do at least check at every red light to make sure that all bodily fluids are in the tissue and that the tissues do not become toys, but there is only so much I can do with him being so far away. I beg him to stop saying, “Oh shoot, maaan” and “Yo”. My mother always asks me why he is so hood.  I just sigh, roll my eyes and hope he gets it all out of his system before we get there.

We arrive and I am in a hurry because I realize that I have a meeting at work in 2 hours. As I get him to stand close to me in the parking lot I close the door and look away. As I look back I see the door swinging shut and a little on the inside. I scream. It closes. He screams. Did I mention we are in the school parking lot and this is our first impression? I get his hand out and scoop him up. “You smashed me, Mommy!” I apologize and tell him it is all my fault and that we will go home after going to the potty. I get in and have to explain. I get him cleaned up in the bathroom. I check for broken skin, he has no real scratch. I check for broken bones, he seems ok there. I check for swelling. The swelling has already started. He asks me to stop touching him and I explain that I cannot. I have forgotten that just hours ago this is the little boy I threatened to give a “Pow Pow” if he did not stop getting out of the bed and screaming about tissue at 12:30 this morning. Nope. All I see is my sweet baby with a boo boo that is all my fault.

They suggest going to the hospital. My first thought is, “Oh, God not again. They are going to call the people on me.” The last time I went to the hospital it was because he jumped off the bed right before “night-night” and hit his head on a corner of my childhood bed. Old wooden beds are good for longevity, but not for play time. I ran him into the emergency room in just his underwear and dressed him while we waited. I had already been to the emergency room that morning because he wanted to play big brother and picked up his sister by himself and dropped her to the ground when I screamed. Thank God she slid and landed on her padded diaper butt. I hate going to the emergency room. I know my doctor gets those reports. Is she going to report me, too? I take a deep breath and remember that those visits were months ago. I may not be the best parent, but I at least won’t be arrested.

As I go to reschedule the appointment, the director offers some ointment that will prevent swelling. LoLo has stopped crying and is now playing and wants to take the tour. So, I pull it together and carry my 30 pound monster on a 40 minute tour. Aww, crap, I just remember that ice pack might still be in my purse. Gotta go!

20 Questions

There are some questions that I find myself asking over and over again in my internal dialogue. I thought that I should share them as a means of getting them out of my head. Then I figured maybe other people ask the same questions. Some of you may be asking questions I have never thought about.

1.       Is it possible for someone to be accidentally racist? Is it possible that they have no clue that what they are saying is bigoted or offensive? I doubt it, but considering the number of “you people” comments I hear on a daily basis, I often wonder.

2.       Are people so messed up in their understanding of healthy relationships that they continue to dance to the Police song “Every Breath You Take” at their weddings despite the fact that everyone knows that song is about stalking?

3.       On that note, why do people dance the song “Reasons” by Earth, Wind, and Fire when he ends the song by saying he can’t think of a reason why they are still together? Is it because they are like me and can’t understand a word he sings in the voice? Why not read the lyrics first?

4.       Did anyone else know that the “If you like pina colada” song was about adultery?

5.       What is so “adult” about cheating on someone?

6.       Why can’t you continue to claim your loser 45 year old son who refuses to move out of the basement as a dependent?

7.       Why do they make the sleeves so short on Petite clothes? Whose arms stop at their waist?

8.       Why do men think it is ok for them to have female friends, but are suspicious of their girlfriend’s male friends? Don’t you realize you are that guy when your female friend starts dating?

9.       Why are the people on the radio trying to kill me by playing slow jams on my way home from work? I woke up early, worked and full day and am now stuck in traffic, why would play music to put me to sleep?

10.   What is it about having curly hair that makes people feel like they should be able to touch it?

11.   What does it mean that I dreamt Anne Hathaway and James Franco were possessed by an evil spirit from one of the gift received at an engagement party and tried to kill us before turning on each other?

12.   Are children born manipulative?

13.   Why are beards and goatees sexy and moustaches creepy?

14.   Why do you have to tell people that lying on a bed of light bulbs is bad?

15.   Why do I have to explain that Track and Field is an intuitive sport? Imagine being outside in your underwear. You bend down to tie you shoe or pick up something you dropped and you hear a gunshot. What would you do? (Hint: RUN!) What about hearing a whistle makes me want to run dribbling a ball and trying to get in the hoop?

16. Why would a grown woman want to wear a romper and have to get completly undressed to use the bathroom?

17. What is it about fruit punch and red juice that makes kids vomit?

18. Who decided pink would be the color for girls?

19. Why do brown skinned women think that blush looks good? It doesn't, not even when done right and it will never look like a natural flush.

20. Why have people asked me if I want to go tanning as though my current color is not good enough? I am a happy burnt sienna color. Does anyone remember that crayon color?

I have so many more questions, but they can wait for another day.

The Power of Accessories

Accessories totally change an outfit and an outfit can totally change the way that people treat you. I realized the accessories part last week. I am not one for jewelry. Don’t get me wrong, like most women I love the idea of jewelry and am ecstatic to receive it. I, however, do not often wear it.

This was not always the case. I have pictures of me from the summer I transitioned from junior high to high school that look like I was in a Mr. T training program. I had multiple chains, a hand full of rings, sunglasses and belt. I remember that everything I wore was for a different reason and since I could not decide which one to wear on a given day, I just wore them all. I also remember how I lost each one. I lost one when my chain popped during a race at a track meet. I lost another down the drain while getting ready for school. I broke my watch when I tried to catch it palm down, but instead wound up smashing it into the tile floor of our bathroom.  Much like the beat, the list goes on until finally there was nothing. I soon decided that I should stop leaving a trail of gold and silver everywhere I went, like a rich Hansel and Gretel. I have mostly been a blank slate ever since.  

So, last week, I had on a dress that I had worn what feels like 100 times before, but this time I wore it with a necklace.  All of a sudden people are holding open doors and saying hello. One person even held open the elevator during the morning rush. It was like I was living in a Coke commercial. I was getting compliments on my outfit. The only thing that I had done different was add an accessory.

I had to test this theory further. So another day, I put on my trusty casual Friday jeans and pulled my hair back in a bun as I am known to do, but this time I added earrings. You would have thought I had gotten a makeover. People could not stop telling me how nice I looked and smiling at me. It was awesome.

Today I decided I would see this through. I put on a plain black dress that I have worn many times before. I added some work heels, a jacket and a necklace. Someone stopped me as I walked through the parking garage. The three women at work who are the office equivalent of Quinn, Santana, and Brittany (God, I am dying for Glee to come back.) each separately stopped and talked to me. It is official! Accessories have made me more acceptable.

Who knew?

Flirting 101

Flirting with a stranger is like speed dating without the pressure. You can find out so much and connect or bail in those first few minutes without the awkwardness of an official date. Flirting makes, when done right, makes everyone feel good.

I was voted class flirt. That was a long time ago, but I still practice on my husband. It is one of the few things that I am good at. I thought everyone knew how to do it. I was apparently wrong. I mean really people, what were you all doing in high school? Reading books? Planning for the future?

It has recently come to my attention that some of my friends do not really know how to flirt. I was surprised to learn that these beautiful, talented, smart women with whom I share great conversation were unable to parlay their charms into romantic success just because they could not stir up interest in the initial conversation. Here are the five very basic tips I gave one friend who asked. She says they worked the minute she put them into play.

1. Acknowledge the other person’s existence: Simple, right? Apparently not. You have got to say something. You cannot just smile at something they said or nod in their direction. You have got to have some kind of introductory exchange. Preferably with eye contact. The only people who can get away with batting their eyes and looking away coyly are teenage girls and I am assuming that you are hoping not to attract someone who wants to date a teenage girl.

For example, if you are at the sports bar and he makes some celebratory noise or grunt of disappointment. You can look up and ask what you just missed. If you are making after-party decisions feel free to ask the cute bartender/waiter/group of guys at the next table for suggestions. If you are at the same conference and sharing the elevator you can ask which lecture he just came from. The key here is to actually talk to the other person of interest. Looking away while giggling and smiling from across the room are not the same as really exchanging words.

2. Ask for input/opinions: This goes hand and hand with acknowledging his/her presence. Flirting, however, is not an interrogation. You find out a lot about a person by getting their opinion about where you and your friends should go after drinks. If they pick a place you hate, you know that you are probably not into the same things and you can move on. If they say somewhere you love or have been dying to go you can take it from there. Keep it light- sports, movies, music, hotspots.

3. Care or at least look like you care about the answer: Flirting makes people feel good because it makes them feel attractive and interesting. Nobody wants to have a conversation with someone who looks distracted - even if the whole time you are think how great it is to be talking to someone this good looking or fun. Other people cannot hear your internal dialogue.

4. Keep it classy and don’t discriminate – Lap dances are not classy. Falling all over someone, passing them your panties, and slipping your room key in his/her pocket are all ways to let someone know that you are interested, but none of them are classy. Flirting is just “selling the dream” not giving away the milk, cow and family farm. It is also ok to flirt a little with people who may not be of interest because the ugly bartender or so/so day trader may have a cute cousin coming to meet him. Flirting makes people feel good and want you around and you want to be around when the cute one shows up.

5. Have an end goal in mind – Your goal may just be to start getting comfortable with putting yourself out there. That is ok, but if your goal is to get the phone number you should try to steer the conversation in that direction. I suggest being subtle. Subtlety is like a safety net. You can feel out the situation and if sparks are not flying you can abort without having embarrassed yourself. Please refer to point #4. Suggest meeting up somewhere. Mention some vaguely future event and see what happens. Don’t leave it to chance.

6. *This tip is especially for the guys. Be nice- Being cute will get our attention, but being nice will get you a date. I have had friends leave long-term relationships (even marriage) because the guy wasn’t nice. Example: When Ice T asked Coco if she would be willing to date a gansta rapper she said, “If he’s nice.” Think about it.

Hope it helps. Happy Flirting!

Men vs. Women: His List

Husband and I have several ongoing debates, but by far the most is entertaining is the one about men vs. women. We each state our case for gender bias by listing all the reasons we would not want to be a member of the opposite sex. Here is a some of his list in no particular order.

1. Childbirth- Husband is convinced that if men had babies mankind would ceased to exist because the first guy would have told the others what happened and nobody would have done it again. “It is just logic. You don’t push large things out of small holes.”
2. Being hit on by a guy- Husband has made it clear that he would be a lesbian. “I’m not dating someone with hair their chest.” When reminded that a man could shave his chest he decided that anyone who would have chest hair to remove need not apply, but he does not even want to be hit one by a man. “I don’t want to hear any of that ‘Hey, baby’ ‘What’s your name?’ What’s your sign’ stuff”. No asking him for a quarter to tell your mom about meeting the woman of your dreams.
3. Womanly Cycle – “If I wake up and I am bleeding don’t ask me to do nothing. I mean I’m bleeding and you want me to do stuff. No I don’t want to go to the movies. I don’t want to hang out and go to dinner. Work? Whatever! I’m bleeding. I’m going to bed. I’ll call you when it’s over.”
4. High heels – “If God meant for you to walk at a 35/45 degree angle you would have been made that way.” He admits he likes when I wear them, (I am 9 ½ inches shorter.) but is adamant that this is ok because he never asks me to.
5. Spanx/Pantyhose – The are hot, tight and sometimes itchy. He can’t understand how the desire for a smooth stomach can drive a woman to suction herself into a lycra bodystocking for hours. He also can’t understand that the logic of wearing an unsexy flesh tone body stocking in an effort to look hot in a cocktail dress. “You get a guy interested and then won’t let us see what is underneath.”
6. Hair – You rip it out your leg and buy it for your head. “Who’s idea was it to sit under a hood with hot air?” He likes the finished product, but nothing about the process is appealing. Husband helped me with my hair one time. (To prove it could not possibly be that hard or take as long as I make it seem.) It took 2 ½ hours and he burned himself on a piece of hair that he was curling. Now it can be 1 AM and if I say I am going to wash my hair he will go mow the lawn to get away.

His list goes on, but I think you get the point. As far as he is concerned being a woman requires too much maintenance. “It’s everything. You all have suck it, pluck it, and plug it. It is just too much.” He might be right, but it is still better than waking up with back hair.

My Reality TV Favorites

“Different strokes for different folks” is how the saying goes. This is especially true for reality TV. Everyone has watched reality television in some way shape or form at least once. All reality television, however, is not the same. What you watch and why probably reveals more about someone’s personality than they might think. These are my favorites and my warped reasons for watching. I don’t watch any of the “Housewives” franchise or variation on the “Wives” theme because I don’t understand how being someone’s employed ex-wife or unemployed girlfriend/ baby mama constitutes a housewife. I also don’t like whiny chick drama or “look-at-me” diva drama.

Don’t get me wrong. My choices prove that I like ridiculous and over the top nonsense. I just need it served to me a different way. I like people who have no idea that what they are doing is ridiculous or over the top. For example, it was easy to believe that you were actually hearing Jessica Simpson’s internal dialogue. “Why would they call it chicken if it is not chicken?” I don’t know, but it was fun watching her try to figure it out.

I will try to justify my choices, knowing that at least one is terrible. What can I say? “The heart wants what the heart wants”, “To each his own” or any other cliché will do.

Temptation Island – This is by far my favorite reality show ever. Everything about this show was ridiculous. Everything about this show was terrible. So terrible, in fact, that I could not stop staring in disbelief. I used to watch it with my college boyfriend, who was also a huge fan of the show. It is probably not surprising that he is not the husband to whom I often refer. Husband would rather stick needles in his eyes then watch this show, but not me. I love it.

Premise- 4 couples agree to take “a 2 week break” and test their love by visiting a tropical locale where they are tempted by hot singles. At the end couples decide if they want to stay together or upgrade with one of the singles from the island.

What always amazed me was how quickly they went from so in love with their significant other to so in lust with Bambii the astrophysicist stripper with a Harvard Law degree or Rex the poetry reciting race car driver/CEO and amateur body builder. The casting alone was hilarious. The network could not even keep to the rule of not having parents. The only black couple from the first season, Ytossie and Taheed, had a child together. My favorite episode is hands down the one where the horrible shrew girlfriend that suggested she and her really nice, but to accommodating live-in boyfriend go on the show so that she could be sure about their future finds out that the girl she put the block bracelet on actually liked her man (Each member of the couple could block their significant other from one tempter that they felt really threatened by). What does she do? She proposes the next morning and gets the heck off the island before he has a chance to order that breakfast margarita.

Real World 1 – 10- “This is the true story of seven strangers picked to live in a house and have their lives taped. Find out what happens when people stop being polite and start getting real. The Real World..." This show used to be SO good. I remember people from each of the first 10 season. My favorites from each season are:

Season 1 NY- Eric (Yeah, the dude from The Grind. He was so cool back then.) Heather B. (we watched her grow and make music), Kevin (I love an articulate black man with strong opinions and that argument with Becky was AWESOME.)

Season 2 LA- Tami (before Basketball Wives) Remember when she wired her jaw shut? Crazy) David (1^st person ever to be voted out of the house) Jon (when was the last time MTV had a virgin country singer on screen) and Dominic (the old looking Irish dude)

Season 3 San Fran – Puck and Pedro (you had to be there. He stuck his finger the peanut butter. AIDS awareness hit home in a completely new way.) Judd and Pam (everyone knew they should be married)

Season 4 London- Lets be honest, the dog was the most interesting character in these season. I would not remember it at all if Neil hadn’t gotten his tongue bitten in half.

Season 5 Miami- Housemates get a job. What? Melissa and the 3 way. Flora and her antics. Dan the man. They were just a mess and it was awesome.

Season 6 Boston – Everyone in this house was dysfunctional or in a dysfunctional relationship, but Syrus was hot.

Season 7 Seattle – The slap heard round the world. Irene and Stephen It might not be nice/appropriate to out people on national TV before they are ready, but it makes for great “Did you see that?” conversation.

Season 8 Hawaii- Ruthie (She actually came to my undergrad to speak. I was late and missed her.) Tech. That really uptight guy and the WAY to skinny girl. Colin and Amaya and that drama. ALL ridiculous. Mostly awesome. Except for the drunk driving- NOT COOL.

Season 9 New Orleans- Mormon Julie learning about life outside the bubble, David’s terrible song, Manic Melissa, cute Danny and Kelly, who was never there.

Season 10 Return to NY – Cora, the Miz and 2 biracial people trying to find themselves. I loved this one in spite of the worn out formula. They made it fun.

Every season since then has just gotten to be like soft-core nonsense. Everyone is drunk and in the hot tub. There are no deep discussions on race, politics or life. Just sex, clubbing and drinking. Nobody is being real because their too drunk or horny or both.

House Hunters- The tag line is right. I know I want to look. I also want to critique other peoples taste and laugh while their unrealistic expectations come crashing down. Of course you can get a four bedroom 3.5 bath house with a pool and yard space with completed in-law suite for $120,000 in the middle of downtown. HA!

Teen Mom (Original 16 and Pregnant cast) -These girls are the epitome of what I mean by unintentional entertainment. I respect them for trying to show that being a teenage parent is hard. Watching them would certainly make me think twice. Watching them try to make grown-up choices with teenage logic is priceless.

Ice Loves Coco- This is the best show I never thought I would like. “No flats in my house”, the egg sandwiches, the flatulent dog. It is hilarious. The best part is that you can tell that they love each other. I could quote Coco all day. “Be the worlds best elbow licker.”

*Special Mention:

Cheaters – They once found a man with a goat in the bed, not to mention the sex club, truck stop rendezvous, and the uncovering a few down low dudes. At 2 AM this show is always the best thing on.

Intervention – I love to hear the back story and I am a sucker for a happy ending. I always want them to get help and get better. I can’t help it.

Hoarders- It makes me feel better about my mess.

Baby Fat SUCKS

My dress is so tight right now that it reminds me of what Dolly Parton’s character says in the movie Steel Magnolia’s. “It looks like 2 pigs fighting under a blanket.” The dress was a gift, but I should have known better. It is a gift for the body I had before giving birth to my second child. Now I will spend all day trying not to expose myself as the dress and my body fight for freedom.

It all started this weekend when I decided not to do laundry. I am currently in limbo between no longer needing maternity clothes and not being able to fit my old clothes. This leaves me with limited options, particularly in terms of what I can wear to work. My refusal to buy new clothes is not helping. It is not just that I don’t want to buy a bigger size. I really just don’t want anymore stuff. I am on stuff overload. I really want to start going through things and cleaning out my closet before I buy more stuff to add to the confusion.

So I woke up this morning 4 days behind schedule with the laundry and 15 minutes late with some tough choices to make. First, was I willing to iron? NO! That eliminated all pant shirt combos because all of my remaining shirts are wrinkled or casual. Next, maternity dress or regular dress? NO MORE MATERNITY! How can I expect people to stop making comments about me looking pregnant if I continue to wear maternity clothes? That left 3 regular sized dresses. One is stretched out from me stuffing my ginormous pregnant body into it with baby number one. (Why do I still even have this?) Dress number 2 has long sleeves and it is August in the South. That is a no go. That left the dress I am currently wearing as the last option. I checked the tag to be sure that there would not be any “this doesn’t fit” heartbreak all the while noting that the double digit number on the tag would have at one time sent me into a downward shame spiral or into hysterics that someone would buy me a dress that big. Oh, how times have changed! Karma is real and she is not a nice woman.

Before putting it on, my biggest concern was not to have a VPL. So I broke out my black Vickies, strapless, and headed into the bathroom to get ready before waking up the Monster and the Booga.  The dress goes on easy and zips without me sucking and holding, but then it happens. BAM! I see myself in the mirror. Internal dialogue- it looks like I am trying to smuggle a loaf of bread under there. Now I have another choice to make. I could try to find something else or I could suck it up and try to make this work. So I go out into my bedroom to hunt for my SPANX and what do I see? My LoLo Monster is now awake 20 minutes ahead of schedule and watching TV in my bed. “CRAP, I was planning to try to finally shave my legs today!” Husband tells me, “Have a nice day” before kissing me good-bye. Internal dialogue – “Yeah, I’ll have a nice day 20 pounds from now. Right now I am just glad my job involves lots of sitting.”

Girdle found. Damn it, it’s not tight enough. (That is right I said damn. Yes, I am still a Christian. Damn, like hell, should not be considered a curse because, like hell, damnation is real. That is my story and I am sticking to it.) Uggh! I don’t have time for this. I grab a sweater. Race to get the Monster ready. Wake up Suga Booga and realize that my hemline is making its way north with every hurried step. I just got all the Veet hair remover off my leg because in my mind I needed to balance the too tight dress with smooth legs and unlike shaving I could smear that on while getting my son dressed.

I somehow wrangle my sweet babies into the car. Arrive at Grandparent Day Care and what does my mother say, “Ooo. That dress is a little tight don’t you think?”

Ugggh! Baby fat SUCKS! That is what I think!

I Am $10,000 In Debt…To My Mom!

This is my most personal entry yet. So, if you don’t really want to go deep then stop here.

One of the hardest things about growing up, at least for me, is accepting financial responsibilities. I am spoiled. I have never paid rent because I moved back home when I graduated college. All my expenses were paid because my parents made the mistake of telling me that all my needs would be taken care of as long as I was in school. So I decided to grad school and squeeze out another 2 years of easy living.

I made the mistake that so many of my peers did. I filled out the form to “help out” some college age credit card pusher. At least I got a t-shirt, right? I told myself I would never use it. Yeah, right. Just like I am only going to eat one cookie. I worked at a designer clothing store and in a moment of weakness before a trip to Cancun, I went shopping. I had never done anything quite like that and I was exhilarated and gripped with fear at the same time. In the back of my mind there was a voice saying, “You know you are going to have to pay for this, right? You do realize you don’t have any money to pay for this, right?” It was easily drowned out by the sounds of my coworkers telling me how good I looked. I was helping us make our sales quota and looking good in the process I might add.

Then the bill came. I was way too embarrassed to tell my parents what I had done this time.

v     It was not like when I ran up the cell phone bill to over $300. (Unlike now, in the 90’s a $300 phone bill meant that you were running a small company. There was no texting and no smart phone data plan. Just me talking on a phone that was “Roaming”)

v     It was not like the time that my mother gave me access to her bank account only to have me spend almost $1,000 in 2 trips to the mall. (Hey, I checked the balance. There was money there. It just never occurred to me that it wasn’t for me to spend.)

v     It wasn’t even like that time in high school when I could not make up my mind what key chain I wanted and spent $50 because I bought them all. (In my defense, that was actually my money. It was just poor judgment and should have been my parent’s first clue that I needed help.)

No. Those were the mistakes of a foolish girl- not the mature woman I was trying to show them I was becoming. I was going to fix this on my own. That is so not what happened. I struggled for 4 years with that credit card. I would get it down and then buy some foolishness or have an emergency. I had to buy a new computer, but had no cash or savings. Charged it. My car broke down. (Actually it was smoking so bad the state trooper thought it was on fire and had the fire department hose it down on the shoulder of the highway.) I had no cash to pay for the tow or the repairs. Charged it. That card was my safety and my noose. I was in way over my head. By then, I really was an adult, making good money and living rent free and just knew I could pay it if I really tried. I just never really tried.

Nope. I bought a new car. I got a new cell phone and carrier. I got new clothes to go with my new job. I hung out with my friends. That credit card could wait. That was until I fell in love with Husband. He is all about fiscal responsibility. He is the yang to my yin. He saves. He hates credit unless he can figure out how to make it work in his favor. He is a 100% cash and carry kind of guy and I love him for it. He will negotiate anywhere and with anyone. I love to watch him talk someone down off a price. If fascinates me and to be perfectly honest I think it is kind of hot. So it is clear that I knew Husband wasn’t that going to be down for my “free money” living. I had to come clean about the credit and accept financial responsibility for the first time.

That is what I thought, but that is not exactly how it went down. I did come clean, but he did not freak out. On the contrary, he paid off my cards. I just had to promise not to do that again. “NO PROBLEM!!!”, I said. I meant it, too. I would no longer be held hostage to debt. I was going to finally take charge of my finances and this clean slate was the perfect opportunity. Besides I hate answering to other people and it is really hard to tell someone to mind their own business and not to worry about what you are doing when you are spending their money. (Trust me. I’ve tried.)

I was doing a good job too- 4 years and not a credit bill in sight. That is until my mother showed up with a gold card that had my name on it. “Just keep it for emergencies”. “It is attached to my card. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of the bill and you can always pay me back if you have to.” Next thing you know I am buying bathing suits at Nordstrom. Not one, but four because I just can’t make up my mind. I am buying lunch and groceries, computers, gym membership, etc. Then one day it hit me. I am right back where I started. Accept instead of being 19 or 20 I am a grown woman who in a year and a half has racked up over $10,000 on her mother’s credit card. She didn't ask for it, but I have got to pay her back. ASAP!!!

What is wrong with me? How did I get here again? Is this what my clients feel like when they relapse? Should I tell Husband what I have done this time? All I know is that this has got to stop. I have got to pay her back and get my act together. I may even have to get rid of the card. (That just literally made my chest ache.)

If the first step to recovery truly is admitting that you have a problem then here it is: My name is amanda janaan and clearly I have a problem. I have over 10.000 problems and I owe all 10,000 to my mother.  

*Yes, I am going to pay her back. Just as soon as I figure out which one of my kids to stop feeding. Kidding. I have a payment plan and this is the last time- No Really. I mean it. Who am I kidding? Let's just say I am going to try REALLY hard.

You Look Like A Hot Mess

Maybe I should blame Casual Fridays. Maybe it is the fault of loose Silicone Valley computer culture rules. Maybe it is the after effects of all that Generation X grunge and Seattle based coffee or emergence of rap star sponsored clothing labels. Maybe we should blame the 1990’s as a whole. Whatever or whoever the cause, I am here to let you know that you look like a HOT MESS!

That is right. I said it and now that I have I feel so much better. I mean everyone was thinking it and it was taking you way to long to figure it out on your own. Now, don’t get me wrong, I know that I have my off days. Just yesterday I ran out of the house to get some carrots in sweat pants, a shirt I wore when I was pregnant and some flip flops. I was wrong, but I at least knew it. I ran across the parking lot and was so embarrassed when I saw my friend that I apologized because I looked like a HOT MESS! I never intended for anyone to see me. I was mortified and then I saw that my friend was totally not wearing a bra. That might be ok when you are 18 and the girls stand at attention, but we are at the age where you begin to understand why they are called “foundation garments”. Much like the foundation of a house some parts begin to “settle” if let to their own devices. My feelings quickly shifted and I was now embarrassed for both of us. WE LOOKED LIKE A HOT MESS!

Prior to my grocery store incident I was in church and witnessed another act of ridiculous dressing. It was casual day at church. One member took this to mean that it was ok to wear jeans so tight and a shirt so small that her underwear became visible. I am not referring to VPL I am talking about seeing her bright white drawers. Then some poor girl (about 16) came to shirt in shorts that stop about an inch below her butt and a tunic top. She was dressed really cute had she been at the mall, but she was at church and you know her mother knew better because she was in a cute dress. What happened next? Some other girls her age saw her and started whispering. That mother just set her daughter up to look crazy. She could have told her to wear something more appropriate. Let me make myself perfectly clear. It is NOT ok to gossip and talk about people at church. However, it is also not ok and completely irrational to come in looking crazy and expect others not to notice. I am not saying you can’t wear jeans, but you should wear your nice jeans. I am not saying not to wear a fitted shirt. I am saying that you should keep the prize inside the box.

I know what you are thinking. The Bible says to come as you are. That is true, but in the story of the wedding feast parable that is typically referenced people forget to read the end.

¹¹ “But when the king came in to see the guests, he noticed a man there who was not wearing wedding clothes. ¹² He asked, ‘How did you get in here without wedding clothes, friend?’ The man was speechless.
   ¹³ “Then the king told the attendants, ‘Tie him hand and foot, and throw him outside, into the darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’

What you wear matters! Even in the Bible you can get kicked out of the party for violating the dress code.

You say you love God; then you should dress like you are going to see someone you love. If all you have is a t-shirt then fine, wear your nicest t-shirt, but I see some of you with your hair done, nails done, designer purse and clothes looking like you just rolled out of someone else’s bed. Be honest, you came dressed any which way because you don’t really care and that is messed up.

The same is true for job interview. Unless you are applying at a place with a VIP room your bra should not be visible. Sweatpants are never work appropriate. Underwear are always supposed to kept under your clothes. Those women and men you see in the magazine mixing and matching casual and professional are models. They do not work with you.

Tip: All job related interactions require conservative professional attire unless otherwise stated!

Scream & Run

Have you ever just wanted to run screaming from a room or a conversation? I remember being in class with 3 of my friends and neither of us wanted to be there. We started trying to brainstorm ways to get out of class without being penalized. I came up with the most brilliant plan ever. (I am nothing if modest!) I said that we should each scream, get up and run out of the room. I was sure that it would work. First, it would be totally unexpected and erase the suspicion of this being planned. Secondly, I have found that if you scream the person next to you will likely scream as well. Especially because this was early Friday morning and parties started on Thursday night at my campus. I was sure there were people in that room who were still coming down off the party high and on the verge of hallucinating anyway. Therefore, I concluded that if the 4 of us were to look down and scream like we saw something we could likely start a chain reaction of fear and be free. Unfortunately, my punk friends doubted my genius and the power of the mob mentality. So, we sat through another painful hour of class wishing we were somewhere else.

I still, however, still find myself in situations where all I want to do is scream and run. When people come and say crazy things like this:

Crazy 1- Raise taxes, ugh, they just want to take my private jet. (Laughs. walks off)

Crazy 2 – They don’t understand if they raise taxes he will have to lay off people.

Me- Sorry, I still think rich people should pay the same percentage or more in taxes.

Crazy 2 – Then you can be looking for another job. If he pays more then he won’t be able to afford it.

Me – (Blank stare. If having a private jet is more important that employing someone then there is no point in continuing this foolishness.) I still think they should pay more based on income.

Crazy 2 – (walks off. exasperated) They just want us to pay more money.

Crazy 3 – Then you have a socialist government.

WHAT!?! That is totally not how socialism works. You cannot be serious. I have a degree in Sociology. I can totally explain socialism to you if you really are this clueless. Next you'll be telling me that global warming is not real and all the research is just a conspiracy and that the extreme temperature and dying animals is just the natural cycle of the earth. Oh, wait you said that last week. "AAAAGGGGHHH!" I can't take anymore crazy talk. I should run away just in case stupid is contagious.

This was not as bad as when someone I worked with decided to tell me about her painful periods that were the result of fibroids while I was making tea to go with my breakfast bagel. It gets better. I had a male coworker let me know that he was not circumcised and wanted to tell me why it was a better choice. All I was thinking at the time was SCREAM AND RUN!

I have one of those faces that makes people instantly comfortable. This often results in people saying wildly inappropriate things in my presence. They usually say them directly to me. I know who at work has ED meds. I know who is trying for a baby. I know who is going for a mammogram. This gift extends to strangers who talk to me about stretch marks, their frustration with their jobs/spouses/children. The list could go on forever.

I have had people question my ethnic make-up on more than on occasion despite me thinking that my ancestry is obvious. One thing is clear, though. I am not white. I am, however, a magnet for inappropriate racial discussions.  Here is a sample:

“You will like this book. He wrote God as a black woman.” (Make sure that you say it to yourself in the most condescending voice you can imagine)

“I asked, ‘What is wrong with you people? Having babies without being married first.”

“What color are your nipples? Are black girl nipples really bigger than a quarter?

“You are my first black friend. There were only 2 black kids in my town and they were in special ed, but you are so smart” (In her defense, she was drunk, but drinking just made her say what she was already thinking)

Every instance just makes me want to scream and run. I literally hear screaming in my head. My head feels like it is going to swell and explode with various expletives and my eyes feels like they could shoot razor blades. I want to run to protect myself from what I might do. What is the other alternative? I can’t haul off and start pummeling people. That would only reinforce the “crazy black girl” stereotype and I am way too cute for jail. Nope. I just have to find a way to cope with this like all the other unsolicited comments.

But I am sure that I could cut the comments in half if the next time it happens I just yelled, “AAARRRGGGGHHHH!” and took off running. It would at least make for a good story.