Thursday, October 10, 2013

Most People Will Call Me Cray...

I am sitting in a Starbucks in Times Square.  It's like 50 degrees outside but they have the air conditioner on like it's 80 damn degrees! Brrrrrr!!!!!  I'm starting to sniff because I have been sitting here typing for a while now.  I already bought a lukewarm hot chocolate and I ain't buying shyt else to warm up.  I need cocktail money for when I go to karaoke later.  Not sure if I'm sanging though. 

And to add to the frigidity in here, there's this crazy lady sitting next to me having a silent conversation with SOMEBODY.  Her hands are moving around and she is smiling and laughing at whatever SOMEBODY is saying to her.  But what's odd is that she hasn't uttered a sound.  Not a single sound.  She is just over there with her latte being silent crazy and having a good ol' time too.

CONFESSION:  This is exactly the same shyt I do at home.  Shhhhhh!!!!  But my rants are usually just rewinds of convos that I already had that have bothered me or had me worked up.  I just repeat what was said, and then add on what I WISH I WOULD HAVE SAID.  I'm not having 'real time' convos with imaginary people like she is sitting here doing.  Wait a minute.  I must be buggin?  I wrote that like my crazy convos are more sane than hers just because they already occurred.  It's still crazy right?  Real time or past time...talking to yourself regularly out loud is a little crazy.  I just need to own that and stop buggin like I'm better than other crazy people.  LOL.  I'm sure when I get to be an old lady I will be officially cray cray, and very skilled at talking to people that had been in front of me the day before.  I already see it coming.  Been doing it too long to stop.  Sigh.  Oh well. 


It has been a tumultuous summer career wise.  In an earlier post, "I Failed at Kissin' Ass", I talked about my job that started tripping after I had worked there almost 7 years.  I am not gonna go back and relive the details of that, but I finally left that joint in June.  And not without scandal.  The depature wasn't quiet at all and got weird.  I tried my best to leave without drama and say 'safe' things during the exit interview, but it was all for nothing.  That exit interview triggered a whole lot of craziness and my manager said that I betrayed him!  And because he felt betrayed, he did some bogus shyt!  His ass had the nerve to....

....ah I'll leave it for later next time.

(to self:  I have to write about that over the weekend.  It's pretty juicy.  I'm gonna title it, "Don't Do Exit Interviews At A Job" or something like that.  With a spicier title of course...)

So like I said I left the job in June.  I moved on to a new job that I didn't really want because it was a job where I would have to kiss some other executive's ass.  And remember I already failed at kissin ass already, so what made me think I wouldn't be expected to do that again.  Reluctantly I started the new job June 3rd, and on September 3rd I stopped going.  I decided to take a temporary job making $16,000 less and started the next day.  Wild.

And I know that most people would call me cray for that.  But I went ahead and did it anyway.

People wouldn't understand that I just couldn't do it anymore.  I just couldn't.  I had interviewed for 8 months all around NYC and was tired of 'acting' like I wanted to be somebody's assistant.  I had been passed over and insulted and treated like a dog long enough by recruiters for some damn "I Want to Work for Diddy" type of shyt.  Even though folks in these assistant jobs can make a lot of money, I didn't care.  That career path just wasn't for me.  I knew  that it was over when the new job started asking me to go out and get iced tea for the executive.  I was officially over it and I.WANTED.OUT.

Why?  Because it didn't make any damn sense anymore.  I had done this assistant stuff because only I wanted something not too demanding while I ran my business.   When the business closed in 2009 I should have turned my back on the job but by then I had gotten too comfortable there.   I really f*cked up by staying there another four years and should have gone into something else. So I had to weigh it out.  Either keep running to get iced tea and ordering sammiches for the big executives, or just bite the bullet and start fresh before I found myself doing a repeat and "getting comfortable" again. 

So that's what I did.  I got the fluck out. 

That's because I was choking.  I was dying inside.  I was feeling lost and it was making me feel like....I didn't want to be here anymore.  It was getting dangerous and affecting me mentally.  So when the bank finally called said they would take me on contract basis I said yes. 

So I started the contract job at the bank and stopped going to the other job.  And the other job fired me lickety split for not coming to work.  Hated to do it that way and honestly I should have just QUIT, but silly me...I kept stalling and screwed that up big time.  I was just sooooo confused I didn't know what to do.

But I was freeeeeeee!!!!!!!!

I let the new job go and went to one for less money. 
I let the new job go for no stability.
And the contract ain't even for a year.  How many people would do that? 

Not many I bet.  Most people would just call me cray.

And you know what, that's cool.  I have thought and thought about it and I have it all figured out (I think...)  If I play my cards right and get the experience in this financial crimes field doing a couple of contract positions, I'm thinking that in a year or so I might even surpass what I was making anyway in that job I just left.  I will work on getting the certifications, network at this bank I am at now and build my circle, and hustle my way into FT before you know it.  I'm on a mission.  And I ain't the least bit scared.

(SIDE NOTE:  A cute slim goodie just walked into Starbucks.  Walkin' slowly and lookin' my way.  Tall with a brown coat.  Let's call him Toostie Roll.  Ain't bought nothing to drink either and sat down.  Freeloader taking up chair space!!!  Hmmm.  No empty seat at my table though.  Dang.  Actually that's probably for the better because I need to be bloggin' right now anyway. Plus I got my hands full with Trinidad and I need to TRY to be good.  If he came over here he will wreck my flow.  Stay away Tootsie Roll least until I finish.  LOL.)

So like I said I ain't scared.  The recruiters call and think I'm crazy.  I went on an interview yesterday and they looked at me slightly crazy too because I took less money.  But I just yapped on about my experience and tried to captivate them with my intelligence anyway.  Not sure if it worked because when the interview ended he said the dreaded "Good luck", which is never a good sign.  Boo. 

I read something  once about taking chances and stepping backward to move forward toward a different success path.  People may not understand that's exactly what I am trying to do, and even though I am not a young pop tart- I AIN'T DEAD YET!  For the past seven years I had not told a soul what I did for a living.  My family didn't even know what I did.  Most times I would just say "Office Manager" when that wasn't really my title.  I did that because to me it didn't make sense given that I was an engineer, started two businesses, but yet I was ordering lunch and making travel arrangements for people??? Just for somebody to say to me that I didn't kiss somebody's ass well enough after six plus years of service???  If it didn't make sense to me I know it wouldn't make sense to somebody else.  It was easy just to lie or avoid talking about it rather than explain how I had ended up at that job.

I had fallen asleep.  When I was confronted with the words, "You don't make him feel like he is number one", it was just the wake up call I needed to leave that life behind!!!!!  It snapped me out of whatever funk I was in and I am not gonna make the mistake a second time around.  Hell no.  I'd rather sit in the park all day and let my savings drain to nothing before I compromise myself again and be shame to tell anybody anything about myself.  Not if I can help it.

And by no means am I saying that there is anything wrong with being an assistant, it was just wrong for me.  Yanno what I mean?  I wasn't about that life. I don't wanna be running for iced teas like a 19 year old and I ain't asking another soul if they want extra leg room on the plane. Nope. Not no mo'! Money is nice but I need to do more than just "make a living."  I hate working as it is so if I gotta work it better be doing something that I like.  Word.

Yep.  People can call me cray.   They can even SUPERSIZE IT and call me cray cray. I may not like that reaction but in the end I am feeling tons better about the direction I am going in.  Even while making this chump change. 
That's because I only get one life, and I am gonna do what best suits me.  No matter how crazy it may sound. 

There's a reason why my code name is "Eyes on the Prize".  I always have to reach for more.

Wednesday, October 2, 2013

You Can't Be Serious...Four Months

I need to be kicked in my ass for not coming out here.  What the fluck happened?

Friday, May 24, 2013

I Failed At Kissin' Ass.

I don't know what to talk about first.


I am sitting on a plane traveling from Trinidad back to the U.S., so I figured I would try to catch up and blog a little bit.  I am in a middle seat sandwiched between two guys who are sitting with their legs open and their arms crossed.  I am typing with my elbows literally glued to my sides and it's mad uncomfortable, but I'll just suck it up and make it happen.


There has been a lot happening and if I wrote about it all at once the post would be too long.  That means I have to pick a subject so I guess I'll just begin with things with work. I swore that I would never blog about work, but it's at the forefront of everything right now so f*ck it.  Last November  things came tumbling down at the job and it has caused so much confusion in my brain.  I gained about ten pounds as a result and now I am so disgusted with myself that I can't stand it anymore. 

It all started when I didn't get an annual raise in November.  I was an assistant to two managers and then a third got hired which meant more work for me.    I was silent about it because I was waiting to see what my raise would be, but when I confirmed that I was not getting a raise I sent an email to my manager asking him about it. 

And you know what?  He didn't respond.  At all.

Then I sent another email to him a few days later.  He didn't respond to that either.   After this second diss I was really buggin out and my mind was all f*cked up.  It was not a cool feeling. 
And of course I tried to explain it away by saying that he didn't get the chance to read the emails, but when I sent other emails to him the same day on work matters he responded to those without delay.  So clearly he was avoiding answering the question about the raise, and I just couldn't understand why.  He was saying hello to me every morning and straight dissin' me on my question about money over email.  The whole experience was agonizing!  Why was this man not responding to me?  It wasn't like him to do this.  Not at all.  I thought and thought about it until my head hurt, and then it finally dawned on me why he wasn't responding to me....
I must be getting fired.  And if this was the case I already knew why.

I had this new manager that I had been supporting for about a year, and to be honest he and I never really clicked.  Let's call him "The Mitch", because in my mind he truly is a male bitch from where I sit. 

The Mitch is one of those middle-aged 30 somethings who has moved up very fast and has been very successful in his short career.  Whatever formula he has been using has elevated him to partner status at my company and he isn't even 40 years old yet.  So it's no surprise that he is totally full of himself.
He is also one of those managers who drives that formula into the ground by bringing his cronies from the old job with him wherever he goes.  You know what I mean....he makes the company hire the people who he was comfortable with because he had groomed them in the manner that he wanted them to work.  And they licked his azz the way he wanted it to be licked.  The guys he brought to the company acted like mindless wet seals to me because whenever this manager opened his mouth for something they practically went ape shyt handling his requests.  They were hyper and so was he.   He built the perfect set up to make him feel like he was king.  
And then there was me....
From the start I smelled his hyper ways and I can't stand being around people like that.   I try my best not to feed into their hyper personalities, and just do my best to manage their expectations as best I can.  With The Mitch, everything is a  fluckin' fire and I refused to "perform" in the way those other guys did.  I made it a point to calmly handle his requests, while managing the requests from the two other managers I supported.  In short...The Mitch had to get in line.  Now of course I didn't TRY to make him feel that way, but he always seemed to want me to drop everything I was doing to tend to him first.   Nope.  Not happening.  Especially when I had two other managers to deal with too.  It wasn't going down like that because I knew that once you start prioritizing one person over everyone else you will never get off that damn rollercoaster with them.  Everything becomes urgent.  Everything is hot.  Everything is right now.   And word up, you have to nip that shyt in the bud as best and as quickly as you can.  I guess tried to do that with The Mitch but this time I was outnumbered, and it looks like it cost me my job that I had  been at for almost 7 years.

So when I figured that I was on the termination list, I prepared myself for the worst and walked in the office of the lead manager who had been dissin' me. 

"Am I getting terminated?"

He repeated my question as he thought about his reply, "Are you getting terminated? Hmmmm."

He searched the ceiling as if the answer was written up there.  I just sat there and stared in disbelief that he actually was pausing to answer my questoin.  I wanted to say, "Spill it dammit and cut out all of the dramatics.  It was a point blank question that needs a point blank answer.  You have been avoiding me long enough.  "

Then he repeated my question again, "Are you getting terminated?"  Another pause.  More dramatics. 

He finally answers, "Well I don't want to terminate you, but The Mitch does."

As he spoke to me I wanted to puke.  I couldn't believe what I was hearing, and I couldn't believe his attitude either.  The manager that I had known for six years had morphed into a Mitch Groupie.  I'll best try to summarize the list of issues that he ran down to me:

1.     "You don't make The Mitch feel like he's number one."

2.     "The Mitch thinks you have another job." 

3.     "The Mitch thinks that going to the gym at lunch time is more of a priority to you than he should be."

4.     "Your LinkedIn profile says 'entrepreneur' and that appears that you are interested in doing other things."

Let's start with Number One.  Um, I'm not his f*ckin' wife and that's her job to make him feel like he is number one.   Ain't nothing else I really got to say on that right there.  He can suck my azz. 

As for me having another job, I do have two side hustles...but neither of them interfere with work like that.  I thought working a side hustle was a good thing in most circles anyway?  But nooooo, not at my job.  When I tried to tell my manager that I bartended only twice a month on the weekend, he just kept cutting me off saying he didn't want to know what I did or details about it.  Say what?  Then why bring up that I have another job then?   Why you don't wanna hear my response instead of "guessing" that I have another gig.   It all was just dumb to me.

Now bringing up the gym...that's some bullshyt.  I go to the gym on the lunch hour that I am granted by the company.  What I do on my lunch hour is my business so I don't even know why that would be an issue.  I told my manager plainly that the gym was a priority to me, and he shook his head in disagreement.  Wow.  According to him, when the Mitch needed me during a certain time I was never at my desk.  Firstly, The Mitch works remotely and comes in like 1-2 times per month. 
I repeat...he comes in 1 or 2 times a F*CKIN" MONTH!!!!!!!!   If The Mitch wanted me to do something on those rare appearances and skip my lunch break, all he had to do was say so and I would have gone to the gym after work.  But nooooo, instead he chose to complain about it to my manager who in turn never said anything to me either.  So instead they just let the situation escalate to a point where folks were getting annoyed.  Communicate people!!!!  This is how shyt gets f*cked up at work when managers do not communicate their expectations!  I never stood there and said that I MUST GO TO THE GYM AT LUNCH every day.  And what kills me about them bringing up the gym is that the company keeps pushing this work-life balance thing and getting healthy stuff.  But yet this dude gets salty because I go work out????  On my lunch hour?  My unpaid lunch hour?   Unbelievable.

But what really had me trippin' was that LinkedIn thing.  My manager was telling me about the profile like he had busted me doing a crime or something.

"Soooooo...what about your LinkedIn profile?"

I answered, confused.  "What LinkedIn profile?" 

"The one that you have that says 'entrepreneur'?"

Still not remembering the profile I said, "Well I don't remember the profile being up but I like to think of myself as having an entrepreneurial spirit."

My manager shook his head in disapproval.  Apparently one of the wet seals saw my profile and reported back to The Mitch.  I guess to them it appeared that my first love was not working as a bum azz Executive Assistant, and that I really had my eyes on working for myself.  That folks, was the CRIME that I had been busted doing.  My jaw dropped.  I couldn't believe that I was hearing this about a generic f*ckin' profile I had up since maybe 2007.  A profile that had a measly 14 connections of which half were my damn family members.  It was a profile that I completely forgotten about, and I only put it up when I was trying to reconnect with an old boyfriend.  I Googled his name and saw that he was on LinkedIn, and I threw up a quick profile just to send him a message.  I put up the word "Entrepreneur" because I didn't want him to know that I had backtracked and was working as Executive Assistant aka "Secretary."  Of course I didn't tell my manager that was the reason that I put up a different title, but I did defend myself by saying that using a generic word "entrepreneur" to describe myself was not a sin.  I told him that they weren't making any sense and were making a big deal out of a profile that really wasn't much of anything!!!  And I was even more mad because I didn't even recall it being up.  It wasn't like I put up "Pole Dancer" or "Nude Model" on my again I didn't understand what the issue was???  More dumb shit.

Honestly I think they were just trying to build a case against me, and was grasping at anything by bringing up that LinkedIn profile.  How dare I think big???!  How dare I...the Executive Assistant....have entrepreneurial aspirations????  I should be beheaded!!!  They were acting like I was working for the competition or the mafia or some shyt. 
The whole conversation was starting to make my head hurt.  I was mad at them because everything that he brought up to me could have been communicated to me before things had gotten that point.  Communication is key!!!  Secondly I was mad at myself because no matter where I go, I seem to f*ck up something by being late or making mistakes.  Now the reason was that I didn't lick somebody's azz well enough to fuel his ego trip, and I also committed the cardinal sin by being an entrepreneur and working out at the gym!!!!   They were killing me.  I have no raise; I was working for the three managers when every other Assistant in the company had one or two; and you want to complaaaaaaiiiiiiin about me working out during my unpaid lunch break?

I was spent.  The conversation basically ended by my manager stating that he wasn't going to fire me, but instead he was going to give me time to look for another job.

"I think we all need a change."   That's what he said.  Emotionless and looking like he didn't give a f*ck anymore.

As I walked out of his office I said, "Well I'll consider that as you giving me my walking papers then."

And that was the end of that convo.

That was six months ago.  I handed in my resignation letter last week. 

I'm surprised I made it this long.  It is just time to go.  Things have been pretty low key the past few months, and there haven't been any flare ups...but I don't like the feeling of being around a situation that doesn't want me.   It's the worst feeling.

Six months...and all this time I have been looking. I have been sending out resumes and interviewing for shyt that I don't want to do, or in some cases do want to do and not getting chosen for whatever reason.   It's been so crazy that I decided to write another blog about the adventures I have had in job searching.  More details to come.

I do have a couple of offers.  Unfortunately, the only permanent offer I have on the table is another Executive Assistant position for a CEO and I'm not sure if I'm built to do this job again.  A Professional Ass Licker I am not!!!  The other job is a cut in pay and is only a temporary position, but it might get my foot in the door in an investigative field that I have been working on the side for the past six years.   I'm actually more excited about that one and don't care if it pays a little less if it gets me the bucks in the future.

I was so confused that I accepted both positions.  LOL.  Of course I can't do both, but I have to choose one soon.

That's enough for now.  More later.  Plane is landing.  I'm back from Trinidad and it's been literally 14 hours since starting my journey back home.  I can see New York in the distance. 

Good to be home.

Sunday, March 31, 2013

Looking for Azz...

Seems like half of the people that come to the blog are looking for some variation of azz:

I find this interesting.  Especially this "ass woman" search and the arrangement of the words.  Why our peeps from overseas love searching using this term is beyond me. 

And you know what's really funny?  Most of the visitors who search for this are from Pakistan where the women are covered up.  Now they make such a big deal about women exposing themselves or showing too much skin, but then get on the internet and look at naked women anyway.  Now ain't that some ish?

Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Friend Turns Into Foe?

It's funny how a man can come between friends. 

Instead of being mad at the dude for his "ideals" and his "fuckery", your girl gets salty at YOU and cuts YOU off because that's its a way of convincing themselves that they are taking ACTION.  Frankly any ACTION taken should involve dude, not your damn friend that's been riding with you way before he walked onto the set.  Someone usually gets cut off, but is it the person that was the source of their whole misery?  Nope.  It's the easy targets that get the cold shoulder.  The friend that will probably forgive and forget will get the ax because they know you "will take them back" when it's all over.  So because they aren't quite sure if their boo-thang will do the same, they ride that crazy train until the wheels fall off, all the while saying "I need to focus on me" when really they are focusing on HIM.  They lick his azz and cheer him on, trying to everything they can to stay on his good side.  What "side' they are on with you don't matter anymore. 

I tell you dyck is like a damn drug. 

It can make us irrational, lose weight, lose sleep, and lose those in your corner.   All at the same time. 

I know because I have been there. 

And for what?  Why do we do these things? 

For a fairy tale? Yep a muthafuccin fairy tale that we create in our own minds when in real life dude is nothing but a damn nightmare.  

Yep, dyck is a drug.

I say that because isn't it funny how all of sudden you become the one that's getting on their nerves? They ain't got time to hear about anything that's going on with you and they get annoyed when you talk about 'your stuff'.  Notice how they don't even ask anymore what's going with your life.  That's because....

Dyck is a drug.

Before it was dude that was not making sense and talking crazy - now it's you that becomes the one that ain't making sense and talking crazy.  Yep!  Now something is wrong with you?  When the tide shifts this way, you might as well stop trying because...

Dyck is a drug.

I've learned that any "friend"  that's shifted the "problem" as being you instead of him is probably too far gone to save.   There is nothing you can tell that person.  If you speak too frankly to them about dude you're hatin'.  If you don't say enough then you don't care enough and are selfish.  They somehow try to bring the things that you have told them about yourself to rationalize whatever they're doing.  It's hopeless.  You just gotta let them ride that wave and pray that it is worth the sacrifices that they have made to keep that dude by their side. 

Because dyck is a drug...You become unnecessary. 

U.NECES.SARY.  Even if your friend won't admit that to you, that's probably what it really is. 


"You're gettin' in the way....of what I'm feelin."  

So if you are in "dyck's way" ...ahem I meant "love's way" , then just move.  Just get out of the way and be done with it.  And maybe then I...I mean YOU can stop asking yourself what in the hell happened to your friend.

Tuesday, March 19, 2013

I Killed the Baby G

Hallelujah!  Hallelujah!  If I had a tambourine I would run up and down the aisles of this crappy New York City library right now.

(Sniff.  Sniff.)

 It kinda smells like the Funky People been sitting at this table.  Whew!

(wrinkles nose)
Oh well.  Let me just try to focus.   Everyone else seems to be okay.  Maybe they are used to it??? 

(Wait.  Interruption.  Someone comes up to talk to me.) 

Ok so my scarf was on the floor and the library security lady with the 40DDDD breasts just told me to pick it up because, as she put it, "Things might grow on it from these people that be in here.  You know what  I'm saying?"

I quickly picked it up and we chuckled quietly together.  

(Sniff.  Sniff.)

That security guard has been boozing it up somewhere in this library.  I could smell the liquor wafting in the air as she passed.   The smell was strong too.   I bet she probably takes shots between the stacks of books.  LOL.  Man I tell you, New York City is a trip.   Everybody is a damn character.

Anyway....back to work.

So I was sitting here in the library working on a different post and I just ran my fingers across my upper lip.  And I'm smiling wide because it's as smooth as Tyrese's head right now.  After a month.  I  repeat...AFTER A MONTH.   For me this is some real shyt and a definite reason to celebrate with a blog post! 

I'm telling you this is BIG!  I don't know why it took me so long to get this right, and lawd knows it has been practically a lifelong struggle dating back to puberty.  I was probably 12 or 13 years old when one day this boy in grade school got in my face all close up and personal, squinted, and screamed, "You got a moustache!"   Of course his loud ass got the attention of the other kids, and they started pointing and discussing me like I was a science fair exhibit.  I'm sure that I only had a few baby sprouts on my lip at the time, but it was enough to cause a stir on the schoolyard.  It was terrible and I will never forget that day.  Kids can make you feel like crap.  I quickly slapped my hand over my mouth and screamed, "So what!  So what!" until the teacher came by and broke up the scene.  Back in the classroom I sat with my hand over my face for the rest of the day suffering from post-traumatic stress syndrome.  After school I ran home humiliated with my hand over my mouth the entire way.  After I was able to pull myself away from the bathroom mirror, I went to tell my mother about the situation.  I figured that she would know what to do, because she was a girl once (I think). 

Her solution:

That's all she said, and went back to cooking dinner.  I stood there waiting to hear more, but there wasn't anymore.  

Don't touch it?  Did you say don't touch it?  That's all you got Ma?   You're supposed to be all knowing and have the answer to every problem!   So how am I supposed to get rid of it if I don't touch it?  I wish I didn't even ask because all you did was just scare the shyt out of me with that advice. 

Now I was humiliated AND mad.  She didn't get it.  She had no clue that the schoolyard incident signaled the beginning of my bout with self-consciousness.  She didn't understand how The Hairys just added to the other things that I was already becoming insecure about at that age.   Now fast forward to high school where by then I had transformed this insecure, crazy head trip that lasted pretty much the entire four years.     The boys were cruel.  The girls were bitches.  Light skinned was in style and I wasn't light skinned.  All the praises went to people with  "good hair", Guess Jeans, and Coach purses....and I had none of the above.  I wasn't hearing enough good things about myself.  Not even from my parents.  I swear if it weren't for the random boy who dared to show interest in me every now and then, I probably wouldn't have heard crap.

Ok, ok  I'm getting off track.   The point I'm trying to make is that I didn't listen to my mother about how to handle The Hairys.  She was buggin' if she thought I was gonna sit back and do nothing about a hairy f*ckin' lip. 

So despite her advice... I touched it anyway. 

And that's because I still wanted to put up a fight.  For maybe 20 years that fight has involved me using almost every weapon and method out there from chemical warfare (Nair), physical torture (electrolysis), to bulldozing them (shaving).  You name it and I have probably tried it.   When I was dating my Latin Lover aka Chipotle, he tried to be encouraging by saying that the faint moustache made me look intelligent.  LOL.  I would just laugh when he said that.  Only Chipotle could come up with that weird azz compliment.  He said women with moustaches were "muy intelligente" because they are too intelluctual to be concerned with vanity.   Double LOL.  Nice try Chipotle, but I wasn't buying it.   I told him that when I see a woman with a moustache, the only thing that it says to me is either "Shave me" or "I don't give a f*ck."

And speaking of not giving a f**ck, I have a new found respect for the old ladies that have The Hairys and the Baby Gs (Baby Goatees) on their faces.


For years I have always wondered how any woman could let things get to this point, and now I think I know why.  It's because they have grown tired of trying to keep up with these muthafuccas!  The older you get, The Hairys become almost like roaches.   You kill one and three come from the command center ready to take its place.  The Hairys usually stay winning on Grandma probably because 1) she probably can't see them anymore because her eyesight ain't what it used to be, or 2) she can't grab the tweezer to pluck the shyt because of her arithitis or her "nerves are too bad".   I realized that at some point she finally said, "F*ck it.  Let the shyt grow."  I can most certainly respect that because imagine going thru a LIFETIME of waxing, tweezing, and plucking?  Anyone would get tired of it, hence the reason for the pic above. 

Then you got that other group of women who say "F*ck it".  The lip hair ain't no big thing to them.  Some even think it makes a statement. 
Like my girl at the bar where I work.  She proudly sports her peach fuzz and has no problem with it.  Dudes are still checking for her hard and it's not affecting her life in any way, so her philosophy is "if ain't broke don't f*ck with it".   She is a thick and shapely chick that commands a room when she enters it anyway, so her hips and thighs more than make up for the shadow over her lip.  She just has that ghetto fab swagger that will stop traffic (in ghettos) and the guys just eat her up.  And I do mean...Literally.  Eat.  Her. Up.  Overall she just carries it well, and if I could rock a 'stache like her I wouldn't be writing this.   But I know I am not about that life.  I'm too self conscious about it, and I'm not quite ready to have the lunchroom lady look with the red lips and moustache.
After trying almost everything I had found that threading has been the most lasting solution for me, even though it hurts and makes my eyes water most times.  I have been ten years strong going to Bita and 'nem at the threading salon, but the thrill is fading fast.  As each year passes the hair is growing faster, wilder, and meaner.   I can't keep up!   It's to the point where I find myself plucking wayward chin hairs while sitting at a red light in my car.  I carry tweezers like I'm packing a pistol.    Then shyt got real when I saw an old boyfriend one day. 

It was a BRIGHT, SUNNY WEEKDAY MORNING when he came up and surprised me.  I was waiting for the train to the city staring at my cell phone. 

I looked up at him startled.  He looked good.  But my lip and chin didn't.  In fact his face looked smoother than mine! 

And to make matters worse, it was way too sunny out for him to be rolling up on me like that anyway.  It was the type of sun that puts a spotlight on every line, blemish, pimple and hair from a mile away.   Even though I had my makeup on and I was dressed for a NYC day, I hadn't been by Bita and 'nem in about 2-3 weeks.  I didn't have the time, and I didn't check the Baby G that morning because I was running late.  It was no way I could pull out the tweezers and perform an emergency beard removal.   He was already upon me flashing his million dollar smile.

For 45 minutes I rode the train next to him in anguish.  We chatted away about all types of things, but when I spoke I wouldn't make eye contact with him.  I kept fumbling around in my purse trying to avoid giving him a full frontal view of my face.  I'm sure that he peeped that I was acting weird, but I couldn't help myself.  I was mad uncomfortable and he was just too close to me.    When we got off the train and parted ways, I was mad as hell and told myself that was it.  I was tired of The Hairys and tired of the Baby G making me uncomfortable.   I had had enough.  I immediately went on the internet and researched electrolysis and laser hair removal and made some appointments.  My game face was on!

First I tried electrolysis and that was a beotch.    <<<<It hurt like hell>>> and left sores on my skin from the electric pulses from that dagger probe she was using.   You have to put electricity on every single f*ckin hair, and I had way too much fuzz for that nonsense.  It was pure torture.  I think the Polish lady who did it knew she had jacked me up too because she had this apologetic look on her face and gave me an awkward smile as I studied my face in the mirror.  When I left the place I was even more pissed than before, because although the hair was gone I had a bunch of red damn marks and sores all over my fkn lip!  It defeated the damn purpose of why I even went there. 
Next I tried the laser removal thing.  I was worried because I read that it wasn't a good method for brown skin, so I looked for places that supposedly specialized in laser work for Brown Girls.  I bit the bullet and paid the astronomical $79 for the session - a session that lasted all of two minutes.   But to my surprise it worked!   Well.    I noticed results right after the first treatment.  The hair barely grows back and I only have to go to a session every few weeks.   I went ahead and bought the package deal and after five sessions the hair is almost all gone!  I did get two small surface burns once and it freaked me out, but they went away in less than a week.   I just used makeup to cover them up and it was all good.  But there is never any pain, and that was important.


So Hallelujah!!!  Although from what I read, no method is guaranteed to remove all hair, but if it takes 90 or 95 percent of it that is totally fine by me.  That's better than looking like a furry spider.  So no more Baby G.  No more dealing with The Hairys.  I was finally able to fix something that had bothered me from my days in grade school and I feel good!  If I see that ex boyfriend again (and I'm sure I will) I'll look his azz dead in his face, bat my eyes, and pucker my lips so they look extra sexy.  
So add the laser removal to my toe surgeries, correcting my teeth, and fixing my ear lobe - which is all part of OPERATION STAYIN' MARKETABLE.   I'm actually proud of myself about the actions I have taken over the years for myself.  I'm even thinking about another surgery this year.  Why?  Because I ain't got no babies and can spend the money on upgrading myself.  As women get older our stock drops in many men's eyes, and that's why you see these old cats hawking the young gals.  I can't go back to twenty, but I can try to make sure everything looks right and tight.  And yeah I know it may appear that I am "into" correcting cosmetic things or that I may seem vain, but addressing these little things really has helped my self-esteem.   I don't think that is a crime, especially not for a chick who went thru a mental hell and a lot of negative bullshyt during her early to mid-teenage years.  With everything else that is going on that is really f*ckin' with me right now, this was the one happy thing that was worth writing about.
Now back to regular programming.


Sunday, January 13, 2013

Where You Been?

(sits back and exhales...)
Finally.  I have carved out some time to blog.  I hold my head in shame for neglecting this blog like I have.  Damn.  For one I am so glad that NC17 has not taken me off his blogroll because if it weren't for him I probably wouldn't have anybody landing on this page to begin with.  I truly need to keep riding his coattails so at times I feel the need to keep blogging out of fear of being dropped by him!  LOL.  And I can't have that!  I don't have thousands of followers but the ones I do have I know I owe a lot of them to people clicking on the link over at Black Girls Are Easy.
But of course I don't just blog to keep my status up over on his site.  I have had tons of things to write about, and I do it to get things off my mind or make things clearer.  It's just been hard finding the place and time to do write.  I used to write all of those wonderful masterpieces while at work, but for the past year or so I haven't been able to do that.  Now that things are fugged up at the job and I'm working on leaving, I just have to rearrange my life and squeeze in time to do the things that I want to do --- like writing.  I felt that I was losing my touch, and my writing skills were getting rusty.  As I get older I even think that I have now have a touch of dyslexia, and I'll write something and when I read it, it sounds totally whack.  But I am gonna pound out this blog post anyway even if it kills me.  I have to bartend tonight (ugh, don't know why I volunteered because I got mad personal shyt to do), but I'm not gonna do another thing until I write this.  No matter what.  The girl is gonna write!! 
So what's first on the list? 
Should I talk about my mother telling me that I embarassed her yesterday after learning that I was a Broke Ass Woman after her nosey azz sister read something about me?  
Should I talk about that my job basically told me to get the f*ck on because I don't lick my manager's azz enough to his standards?  Well that's one of the reasons anyways.  LOL.  I'm not perfect but I do a decent enough job. 
Or how about some bar stories???!!  Yeah, yeah.  (rubs chin)
Should I talk about these hating azz broads at the bar I work with?  Or how about the time when this man called me a bytch over a $5.00 drink he felt he was cheated on? wait a minute!  Here's a good one.  I could write about The Artist Formerly Known as Cornrows turning into a possessive little weenie bytch!!!  That's probably the best story I have from 2012.  He caught feelings so hard that he would call me hollering about me talking too long to people at the bar, or that  he felt like he was my secret lover (which he was), and then the grand finale when he texted me calling me a trick and a hoe after he saw another dude in my car.  I can put anybody in my car that I want muthafucca!   I wasn't trying to hurt anybody, but it makes me exhausted just thinking about his insecure, weenie azz.  I think his birthday is this month too.  F*cker. 
I could talk about my pseudo boo boo, Mr. Trinidad, whose breath sometimes smells like boo.  No lie.  I think it's something internal going on with him because sometimes his breath smells like azz.  Once I went in the bathroom at work and someone had taken a dump, and it reminded me of his mouth.  Word.  If it wasn't for the "thickness" of that member I probably would have bounced a long time ago.  I keep him around because he is sweet and very thoughtful.  More thoughtful than anyone I have ever met.  He was my backup to The Artist Formerly Known as Cornrows and he was the alter ego of Tin Man who was a complete nightmare.  What we have is pretty good though, however there is one problem.  Sigh.  More on that later.
Then there is Tin Man.  The Monster.  The Weirdo.  The Aloof Moron.  The Heartbreaker.  We spoke the other day.  As much as he is a big zero to me, hearing his voice stirred something inside that made me want to feel it just one more time.  I think he could sense it  too, and dudes know how to reel you in once they got you going---they send you a stock photo of their dyck.  Yep.  That is exactly what Tin Man promptly did.  He was on it!  And he made sure that the one he sent was a close up where you could see that his thang was just bursting with flavor and ready to go!  Damn him!  At first I felt a tinge of insult when he sent it, but that feeling quickly subsided.  Now I really think we should just f*ck and go back to not talking again.   Hmmm, I dunno.  He is sooooo fluckin' whack and lame.  Not sure if it's worth it the effort. 
A new story is developing too.  The female clerk at the post office wants to have sex with me.   I can tell.  She stares at me and smiles like she wants to eat me.  I always sensed something funny in her eye contact but last week she was looking at me in that "way".  Hard.  I think she is like five minutes from going in for the kill.  It ain't gonna happen though.

And last but not least, there's Shallow Hal.  He has just gotten too hard to take as of late.  I'll just let those blog posts speak for themselves on what I mean by that.  I haven't spoken to him lately but I bet one of them gals ends up preggo in 2013.  I tried to make a bet with him on that and he would only make a three month bet.  I wanted to bet for the entire year.  Obvioulsy he knows he can't trust his reckless dyck to go a whole year "raw riding" two fertile 30-something women.
So what shall it be?  Maybe these little snipets are enough.  I know that is a lot negative stuff.  A lot.

Hmmm...what's good to talk about?
Well I saved $29K.  That's up about $17K from last year.  That's pretty good since I filed bankruptcy about two years ago.  I also went to the Dominican Republic and I was back in the Bahamas for solo trips.   I was a bit reckless when I was out there but I made it back in one piece.  I do stupid things with strangers and I need to be kicked in my azz.   Then the plane back from Miami lost an engine and I thought I was gonna die in a crash!   Emergency trucks and people were crying and everythang!  It was so scary.  It was one of the worst experiences in my life.
So I'm thinking.  Thinking.  Thinking.  What first?
In the meantime, I'll pat myself on the back and check the blog off the list for today.  I just need to bring my azz back sometime this week! 
I'll think about what to write while I go and organize my shoes.  I'm gonna take a guess and say I own probably 100 pairs.  And just bought another pair today; another pair that I don't need.
That's ridiculous right?  I clearly have a problem. 

More later.