Chronicles:A Quarter Life Crisis

Change in Location - I'm Blogging on Wordpress!

2011-04-08T18:25:00.005-04:00

I've moved on from this blog but I don't have the heart to take this down. Please check me out at http://snarkyasiwant2b.wordpress.com/

Random Iskabibbles – Is Monogamy a Joke?

2010-12-16T22:20:00.007-05:00

Of late I’ve been staying up to catch the shenanigans over at VSB. The blog is very well written and takes a sometimes comical approach to men, women and this thing we call love and relationships. New posts arrive promptly at the stroke of 12AM and then the magic happens. The comment lounge has become my hangout spot…I feels at home even though I’m just a lurker.

Yesterday’s post penned by Champ, “If Women Ruled the Dating World Would Monogamy Still Exist?” got me thinking about what it means to truly be 100% monogamous to someone. It also made me lose a bit of beverage, specifically at this…there’s absolutely nothing more damaging to the well-being of society than an abundance of perpetually sexually frustrated men. (Why? Well, perpetually sexually frustrated men kill random people and occasionally kill random people in bulk). Touche!

Is it possible to be monogamous, the practice of having only one mate at a time? In our society we are told that the rightful order of things goes something like this:

Boy and Girl meet
Boy pursues Girl
Girl agrees and accepts Boy’s pursuit
Courtship begins
Love blossoms
Boy and Girl marry (promising to love, honor and do the grown up with only each other)
Girl and Boy have 2.3 children and live happily ever after

What the storybook fails to mention is that life rarely happens this way. I would argue that even though our goal is monogamy it is not our practice especially with research suggesting a 30-60% chance that your partner will commit some form of infidelity. We all fall short. In reality we subscribe to assumed monogamy and to some degree live happily as long as we don’t see, hear or smell cheating. Even with good intentions sometimes something new is just that something new. I’d even argue that is it 100% possible to cheat, for lack of a more technical term, on your significant other and still 100% love that person. Variety is the spice of life and not for nothing every person is not great at everything. This is not to say that monogamy is impossible but damn if it ain’t highly improbable.

Case in point the person who fixes your car is probably not the same person who does your taxes. In our society folks specialize, becoming an expert in one area of life while just being average or ok in others. There’s nothing inherently wrong with this and hell that’s the way capitalism made us. Renaissance men are a needle in a haystack which means finding emotional support, financial assistance and chexual satisfaction in a single body, in this day is damn hard. I’d even go out on a limb and say that most of us compromise on one or more of these things in order to fit the monogamous model society set for us. As a result of said compromise some, remember 30-60%, fall weak at the feet of a specimen possessing one of your compromised elements.

I don’t think there’s anything wrong with compromise because let’s face it, most of us aren’t hitting the mark on all the items I mentioned above either. Accept that you’re a specialized being as well and hope that someone is willing to compromise your hashish and call it love.

But even knowing the above I would still argue against Champ and say that if I ruled the world, I’d free all my sons…oh wait that’s a song. What I mean to say, his thought process is not off balance in theory. (And let’s be clear his theory was focused on polygyny meaning a man can take more than one wife not polyandry where a woman can take more than one husband.) In theory women are driven by security more than anything and it would stand to reason that being a sister-wife provides more security than a single-wife. But only if we equate security to finance, to site Champ…one seven figure earning man can support 10 women easier than one $50k a year guy can support one. For some women security (and when I say security I mean financial security) is the only thing that matters. I’m not sold that financial security drives all women today though. Like communism while fantabulous in theory hits a big not gonna happen wall in practice.

In sheer numbers alone this can’t work. I could be wrong but I think the US population is about 300 million. Half of that being able bodied adults so 150 million. Based on the US economy, only 0.1% (150,000) of US households earn a seven figure salary and that figure includes women. For the pure funk of it, let’s say that that number does not. Multiplying that figure by 10 (assuming that one seven figure gent could handle 10 women successfully which I doubt given my taste for Gucci handbags) it would still only cover what 1% (1,500,000) of the adult population. Of course my numbers could be wrong since I only took Excursions in Mathematics and White Collar Statistics in college.

While we’re at it let’s be even more realistic and say that a lot of women, sorry chicas I am a proud card carrying member of the titay committee, can be batsh*t crazy when it comes to romantic love. Must I bring out the cracking e-mail/cellphone generalized internet stalking cookbook written by and for women? Did I need to go there? Those things alone clearly point to the fact that most women aren’t down with OPP.

Of course there’s always a wrinkle to this theory. Honestly I believe any woman married to a politician, famous actor or sports star knowingly practices a form of polygamy. Yes that is my opinion. You are free to disagree. Knowing that slores follow money and power and men are generally swayed by poon if thrown hard enough it would be borderline retarded to believe any of these men are faithful. Yes I am a cynic. But seriously if Troy Polamalu type men were in my face everyday offering the peen with no strings I’m not sure how long I could turn that offer down. Honestly I’d break out of sheer want to try it-ness. Temptation is a snaggatoof bish.

Additionally I’m not silly enough to believe there aren’t women who prefer mistress status, especially since 2010 was a Ho-a-thon. I can’t remember a better year for the Ho in all my 29 years on this planet. Ho aspirations hit an all time high. And not for nothing Hos stayed winning this year*cough*Alicia Keys*cough* with the exception of Kat Stacks. The 1% discussed above swallows up knowing polygamist and gutter butts. Unfortunately that leaves a whole 99% of the female population that won’t get down with the get down for the sheer mathematics or the batsh*t craziness of it all.

At the end of the day if women ruled the dating world I don’t think it would be any different than it is today. People believe and agree to monogamy while practicing pseudo polygamy. Meaning, that on the surface we are with one person while secretly entertaining others, if you don’t believe this you have no better place to look but to the 30-60% infidelity rate. Clearly lots of folks aren’t practicing what they preach. Hell folks go to great lengths to live in a world of oblivion about their significant other’s outside trysts. Ignorance is bliss.

Maybe I’m jaded, what do you think?

Midweek Nonsense – Benson is an Abusive Liar…

2010-12-15T19:29:00.007-05:00

Actual picture of Benson!

This morning I learned something fascinating about my cat. Actually it’s not really fascinating as much as it answers questions and proves that I’m not losing my mind. Sometimes I leave items on my kitchen counter and walk into my living room or my bedroom to get something, answer my phone, or catch a glimpse of Troy Polamalu, whatever. When I come back into the kitchen said item will be on the floor. Granted The Little Brother is an odd ball at times I know he’s not a child and wouldn’t just knock something on the floor and walk away. But with no other human in the house who could have done such a thing, dramatic squirrel. As it turns out Benson my sometimes couch snug-bud when the Little Brother isn’t looking can jump onto the kitchen counter. Ain’t this a bish!

Back story, I have two cats because the Little Brother felt one cat might get lonely. Benson is the alpha male. He dominates poor Stabler to the point that I question if there is a domestic violence situation I should report to the vet. Stabler displays abused wife/child behaviors. When you reach for him he shrinks away as if you want to hit him. This is not by either my hands or those of my brother, we don’t believe in animal cruelty so I chalk this up to the kamikaze-esque attacks Benson levies on Stabler during the day. However, Stabler is agile. He leaps higher, runs faster and overall out athletes Benson. I guess he has to, given Benson’s abusive nature. Not to mention Benson is probably about 5-10 noticeable lbs overweight.

But now I know all of Benson’s laziness is nothing but an act, sneaky bish. This morning I was cutting an apple that I planned to take for my all day snack (I eat apple slices periodically throughout the day, one because apples are natural breath fresheners and two because they are delicious). In the middle of chopping I noticed that Benson stole my purple stripped gloves out of my purse. As I ran after him with the angry voice, angry voice only works on canines, he eventually tired, because he’s ~~fat~~ weight challenged and dropped them in the middle of the living room floor. As I stooped down to pick up my gloves I hear the knife fall to the kitchen floor, dramatic squirrel.

Knowing my brother is in his room I dash to kitchen with shoe in hand ready to assault the assailant with the heel only to find Benson on the counter. WTF!!! Although he should have been the one in shock to be caught with his pecker in a cheap ho he just gave me that whatever bish look, hopped down and began drinking his water. Are you serious, at least this is what I was thinking? Benson is a lying ass ninja cat that’s been wooling (do you like how I made wool a verb) my eyes for years about his actual physical fitness. That noticeable 5-10lbs of overweightness (yup just made that one up) clearly isn’t stopping him. Granted I thought Stabler given his athleticism could easily hop on the counter but given his meek manner he accepts that the window seal is the highest place in the house he’s allowed. Not that bish Benson.

After the shock of the situation wore off I yelled to my brother explaining what had just happened. His response, “You know what, that’s because he’s fat!”

I try not to delve into the logic that is The Little Brother but sometimes he says stuff like that and I can’t resist.

Me: What? You realize that makes no sense right?
The Little Brother: Huh, everything that Benson does is because he’s fat.

I sincerely hope he was trying to be funny.

Midweek Nonsense: Am I to Believe that Thursday’s are just Batsh*t Crazy

2010-12-09T19:20:00.002-05:00

This is the R7 - the train I actually catch to go downtown to work!

Now maybe it was the fact that I was riding the train, or maybe it’s just the fact that it’s Thursday but today was another peculiar one. Again, started with hitting the snooze, maybe I should avoid this feature going forward. Thankfully I fed the cats out of their dish instead of leaving the bag of cat food on their mat.

In any event I was running a little late, no doubt due to snoozing, and as I hustled out of the apartment I noticed I was missing my gloves. I am a creature of habit and if one thing is out of place it throws a black hole in my day. Anyway I was missing my black speckled gloves so I substituted with my purple stripe. As I made my way to the train, per habit, I reach into the front pocket of my bag to grab my ear buds. To my horriprise, I was missing the ear buds as well. Since I was running late I had no time to turn around and right the wrong. Braving the element without music is pretty devastating in my world.

Not to mention today was as cold as a witches tit-tay, I mean blustery. Large gusts of what I like to call Philarctic (combination of Philadelphia and Arctic) air molested my inner thighs with each long legged stride. Believe it or not, I don’t wear dress pants in the winter opting instead to wear skirts.

Once I was on the train and could again feel my fingers and toes I whipped out the trusty iPhone and settled in for the 20 minute ride downtown. I was seated with my back to the main cabin while facing one other passenger. I detest this view because I like to look at everyone on the train and make up stories about their lives based on their appearance. The passenger I was facing seemed normal enough, in that college professor sort of way. He was wearing a sweater with a button up shirt underneath, brown corduroy pants, loafers and an oversized black pea coat, very warm and sensible. I noted he had freckles like two of my uncles an uncommon but highly noticeable trait in black Americans.

I smiled as I sat down next to him and quickly busied myself with reading blogs. Since I didn’t have soulful sounds to soothe me on the trip downtown I could at least get a heads up on my blog reading for the day. With head tilted I could still see the College Professor out of my peripherals, not that I was watching him but hey thieves come in all shapes, sizes and colors, you can never be too careful.

After about 10 minutes or so the College Professor whips out an iPhone but it doesn’t look like he’s reading anything or answering a call, more like he’s trying to get an angle to take a picture. Initially I pay this no mind and keep reading blogs but then it kind of looks like he’s taking a picture of me. I brush this off as my mind playing tricks on me but after another minute or two it really looks like he’s trying to take picture of me so I stop reading and give him the WTF are you doing face. When he catches my glance he looks super guilty and quickly pulls his phone back and looks out the window. About two minutes later this whole cycle of events plays again, ODD!

By this time I’m heated and a little torn. Part of me wanted to grab his phone and see if he’d actually snapped a shot of me and the other part was talking me off the ledge. I don’t like when right and left brain are not on one accord. Of course I was too distracted to continue reading so I let my eyes burn a whole in his head. I stared the College Professor down for the rest of the ride. I’m sure this made him uncomfortable but I’d prefer he get a little shrinkage from fear vs growth from perverted arousal on my dime. Miraculously he was finished fiddling with this phone.

Part of me wanted to put this perv on blast, air him out for the whole train to see what a loser he is. I stopped myself from doing this because I could have been completely wrong. Maybe he was reading something and holds his phone awkwardly as if he were taking a picture, me no know!

As we arrived at Suburban Station he actually reached out his hand in an attempt to touch my shoulder. Luckily I still prescribe to the Matrix school of defense and ducked his shoulder tap Neo style. He quickly pulled his hand back as I said, “Why are you trying to touch me? If you need to get off the train, you can say excuse me and I will make room.”

He mumbled, “OK well this is my stop, I need to get off.”

Even though it was also my stop I let him exit the train completely before I picked up my purse and made my way out the door. Maybe it’s me but I think I need to stop taking the train in the morning.

Did I make more of this situation than I should have? Would you have asked him if he took a picture of you given the exchange of events? Was I wrong to pitch a bytch when he tried to touch my shoulder?

Random Iskabibbles: Cheap Apartments, Bowlegged Cowboys and Hi-Top Fades!

2010-12-02T06:58:00.006-05:00

The guy on the train wasn't as fly!

Peculiar morning, no? It was for me even if it wasn’t for you. I woke up and hit the snooze button, not typical Faith behavior. Normally I’m awake before the alarm blares and watch the fluorescent numbers change until 6:36AM. I have no scientific evidence to back this theory but I’ve decided my need to control things makes me wake up before the alarm sounds. It’s a false sense of security.

Snoozing was just the start. Typically when I finish dressing for work I walk into the kitchen and feed the cats. For whatever reason instead of giving the cats their food bowl I laid the bag of cat food on their feeding mat and placed their food dish underneath the sink where the bag belongs. I walked away for a second and then realized the error of my ways, odd! Clearly this was just as disturbing to the cats who took to staring at me blankly. But then again maybe not as cats never really stare knowingly in my opinion they are more blank than emotional. I truly dislike their coldness but I feel compelled to have a pet. I’ve always had a pet and can’t see existing without one. I might need to discuss this compulsion with someone.

Anywho, because I was slightly off my normal schedule the iron was still hot and I felt uneasy about wrapping it up and placing it in the closet. But I did. I felt like it might melt something on the top shelf. I thought about this during my walk to the train station. Oh did I forget to mention that now that I am working in the city regularly I take the train twice a week when my brother can’t drive me because of his dialysis appointment.

On my less than five minute walk to the train station I was almost hit by a car driving no more than 10 miles per hour. As I tried to maneuver around him he tried to park in the space I was standing in. In his defense I was in the only parking space still available in front of the free clinic. Yes I live around the corner from a free clinic, #dontjudgeme. My apartment is ridonkulously cheap for its size but for what it makes up for in space it loses in neighborhood appeal. I won’t speak on the seedy characters that I see on a daily basis. Being home more often may force my hand to make that move.

And when I say move I don’t mean living with The Spaniard. Ever since having my license plate stolen twice I’ve toyed with the idea of moving out of the neighborhood and truly embracing my boughie. Of course with my hectic travel schedule that thought only occurred to me when I had extended stays in my apartment, so like once every quarter. Not enough to make me actually look for a new place. Don’t confuse my ploys to be grown up by acquiring a realtor and looking at condos as a realistic search for a new place. I toyed with the idea of adulthood through purchasing something I ~~definitely~~ probably can’t afford comfortably. Besides I don’t want a place without a family or the guise of a family.

On the train I noticed a couple of things that struck my fancy and something that disturbed me a bit. I’ll start with the fancy because that’s more interesting…I think! So there was this guy sitting half way down the train car who resembled my College Crush. I would have liked to see him walk because I like watching men walk, it’s one of my things and because my College Crush was bowlegged. Although considered a flaw in adults, I find it very very fascinating and sezy. I don’t know why. So much so I looked it up on Wikipedia when I came into work this morning to find out the actual medical term, Genu Varum.

That had me thinking a little bit about college and how I almost had the nerve to tell College Crush that I had a thing for him, which I honestly think was mutual…it helps my ego so go with it. In the middle of my speech, which I wrote out the night before, I was rudely interrupted by an envious lesbian. To this day I still fault her for my inability to disclose my true feelings to him. I ended our friendship shortly thereafter because I couldn’t look at her face without replaying my missed opportunity. Sure I know this makes no sense but I remember her bringing it up in casual conversation saying something like, “Wow did you see how College Crush looked at you, you’d have thought you were about to tell him you loved him or something, ha ha!”

It also made me think about the betrayal I felt when a close acquaintance of mine ~~sucked him off one night~~ dated him briefly during our senior year. She totally betrayed my trust. I confided in her that I’d been crushing on this guy since freshmen year when we sat next to each other in soc class. At first she said something like why and then I explained all his amazing qualities, one of them being his super smartness. He graduated Summa Cum Laude. Big…brains do it for me all the time! Additionally he was athletically inclined, tall, broad shouldered, handsome in that rugged cowboy way and he was a genuine sweetheart. For instance he’d always give me his sweatshirt in criminology classes because the building was outrageously cold.

Not that it was right but yes I actually laughed at her when she told me he was a loser for never calling her afterwards. She deserved that treatment for being a backstabbing skank not to mention he liked taller girls with a little more chesticles, I know this from the few girls who were privileged enough to be called his girlfriend. In my mind I was clearly a shoe in, this didn’t combat my nervousness though. Fear crippled me after being interrupted by the lesbian and well I missed an opportunity at something or nothing. Who knows it will always be one of those things I wonder about. I hate not having closure though I won’t lie. It did teach me that if there is something or someone you want, go for it. Never allow fear to consume you to the point it inhibits your ability to act because it will always be your loss.

Does it make me a stalker that I’ve tried to find him on Facebook multiple times with no success?

Anywho, I then noticed a couple sitting about two aisles away on the train. I started to think that it must be weird to both live and work with your spouse. When would you get that me time that everyone needs? I pocketed that thought because the female portion of the duo missed her mouth and spilled a whole bunch of coffee down the front of her shirt. This in and of itself didn’t capture my eye, it was the male portion of the duo ~~coping a feel~~ assisting in cleaning. Interesting, she’s going to be very embarrassed for the rest of the day. It was a cream blouse. I also noticed the guy hold back a laugh. The chick wasn’t too amused but next time I’m sure she’ll be more careful.

Before reaching my destination, Suburban Station, the train stops at the Gallery. There’s always a line-up of passengers getting off at this station. One of them that stuck out to me by hair initially was a gentlemen with a freshly cut hi-top fade. I know that 90’s fashions are the rage and I’m sort of riding the bandwagon but in this instance the unkempt trying to be curly nappy hi-top fade made me want to earl a bit in my mouth. If that wasn’t enough to upset my morning breakfast, once Mr. 90’s was in full body length view he was wearing a pair of women’s rain boots and the tightest stone washed black jeans I’ve ever seen on a man. I think he noticed me staring at him. I apologize for the judgment but seriously dude, I mean seriously!

But the topper, the icing on this strange ride to the work and slightly disturbing, the noticeably disheveled husky man in the tan pea coat who kept making eyes at me. I noticed that he wasn’t wearing any socks with his dress shoes. It was definitely cold this morning and he was actually sockless, spooky right? If the car were empty besides the two of us I’d have been real afraid, like snatch a piece of my cootie frightened. And I don’t scare easily. I mean seriously my fright meter is way up there. Granted the fear could have been coming from a place of non-comfort with the fact that someone I found less than attractive was giving me the I wanna lick your neck look. But I really think it was more because he looked like an ex serial killer, at any moment ready to return from sabbatical with a vengeance.

Peculiar morning, no?

Mid Week Nonsense: Green Eyes of Jealousy

2010-12-01T18:02:00.001-05:00

Under normal circumstances I am not a jealous person. I rarely ask The Spaniard who he was with or where he’s been. It’s not because I don’t care…well a little of it is because I don’t care but to some degree I operate under the system that any dirt that you do will eventually come to light. My battles with him come down to when I’m actually in his presence. He incomparable to any other knows how to trample my last nerve. And I’m not a violent person but I’ve wanted to, in the not so recent past, punch him in the face MMA style.

But yesterday I felt something odd. We were talking, just chatting really about nothing in particular. OK we were talking about nude beaches and if I agreed with him that they were a no go. In honesty I don’t care. My concern, be respectful. If a woman or man for that matter drops trou at the beach it isn’t for your viewing pleasure, this ain’t the sckrippa club. Don’t ogle some chick because she’s got a great body and cause Mr. Happy to get…you know Happy!

Sidenote I don’t have an issue with sckrippa clubs either, if you wanna pay for something folks show for free be my guest just don’t come to me afterwards smelling of rachet gutter butt hos or classy tramp perfume. Both will get you major side eye action.

He kept going on and on about men wearing shorts above the knee which he also considers a no go. I told him that if his inner metrosex sought my approval for such, he had my blessing. Considering his partial European upbringing I expect latent metrosexual behavior…it’s kind of a given. American men are overly masculine while the rest of the world, save for the Caribbean islanders, march the masculinity/femininity thin line.

Yes I know I just stereotyped men, whatever it’s my unscientific biased opinion so lump it.

None of this made my pressure rise or my antennae perk. But mid conversation just as one passenger left and another entered his cab the wind shifted. Granted the nude beach convo was going nowhere but I was just bored enough to continue with it a little while longer. There was a casual exchange between him and the rider, clearly someone he knew. Most of these people I recognize by name but not this one. I could hear her voice, soft, happy and young I’d bet money between 25-30 give or take a year or two. She asked him about his day, he answered in Spanish, mas o menos (rough translation alright literal translation more or less moving right along). Then this chick asked him to spot her some money to get lunch and he agreed, where they do that at??????

What did I listen to? Is this normal passenger cabbie talk or some other hashish that requires sleuthing? And I totally disapprove of the flirty Spanish talk. Anyway, antennae perked pressure slightly above normal I was at a loss for words. This never happens. Normally I am quick tongued but I immediately felt white hot with anger impeding my ability to talk. I kept turning the small but very telling conversation between this not so random passenger and The Spaniard around in my head. Then he awkwardly mumbled something like, I’ll talk to later ok, dial tone.

This is the same man who called me back angry after I accidently hung up the phone on him screaming about never ending a conversation with OK. He never ends any conversation even if he’s angry with me by saying talk to you later or OK. He always says I’ll see you soon hun or bye love…am I tripping?

Am I becoming one of those girls that sniff tests? Have I morphed into that girl? You know the one who sits outside of her boyfriend’s house/apartment when she knows he’s home and calls him to ask where he is to see if he lies? Did I just stumble into the realm of crazy jealous? Am I taking a brief conversation between casual acquaintances out of context? Is my gut right when it tells me to bring this up in random conversation to see if he stutters and if I get a whiff he’s lying about this bish chuck the deuces? See and there you have it I just called some female I don’t know from jump street a foul name at the hint she’s drinking my kool-aid.

I have no clue where jump street is and I’m not even sure where that colloquialism comes from. Not to mention I’ve declared ownership over The Spaniard, this isn’t 1815 as far as I can surmise slavery no longer exists.

This is weird crazy jealous woman hashish I know it is but I can’t stamp the thought out of my head. I’m obsessing about it a little. And you know what I blame this on, my current employment situation…if I were consulting busy my mind wouldn’t have a chance to over-process nonsense. Oh see the right side of my brain, you know the practical side that processes things logically, told me to stop this hours ago, but the left side, creative domain also known as drama girl central won’t let it go hence the blogpost.

So am I blowing this out of proportion? Side note, jealousy much like wool itches and is uncomfortable without a camisole. Me no like it!

Week-in-Review & Weekend Update a.k.a the Haps since Nov. 19th: Happy Turkey Day, The Little Sister’s Short Return, and Hospital Runs

2010-11-29T18:29:00.004-05:00

This was the first Thanksgiving since Wander’s split from The Man Wander Married. I guess I should call him my dad but that would provide a level of respect for him that I no longer hold. Such as life! Initially we were going to spend the holiday with Granny SJ but hella typical of my mom’s family that plan changed. Granny SJ decided she didn’t want everyone at her house for the holiday and opted, as normal, to spend the day with Grannie Frannie and her clan. I don’t let my grandmother’s shows of favoritism hurt my feelings. I’ve chalked it up to the way things are, at least for my family anyway. I can’t say the same for Wander. Even though she says she doesn’t care, I’m not sure I believe that.

Side note can I still use hella sort of like can I still wear my Ugg Boots…not 100% sure about this. I’d appreciate if someone shed some light. Thanks in advance.

Since Granny SJ kicked us out of her festivities I opened my home for the holiday. I didn’t invite the Spaniard, (there’s no hidden relationship angst there but as noted he is devotedly Muslim and doesn’t celebrate any other holidays and at this point does he really need invites…yeah there’s hidden relationship angst there who am I kidding) but the Little Brother invited his piece of the moment. I shouldn’t disrespect his chick but I’ve yet to meet this strumpet so I can call her all types of off color adjectives until I put face to name. Honestly I doubt that she’s a slore, my brother is out of that phase…I think. Honestly I am the least of my brother’s worries. I’m the nice sister. It’s the little one that’s a handful. She’s super protective…as am I but in a different way. I allow everyone to make his own mistakes and then say I told you so…I kid…only slightly!

Sometimes I wonder how my brother feels being trapped betwixt two crazy sisters?

Of course I was on deck to pick The Little Sister up from the train station upon her return home for the holiday. I mean why wouldn’t I, considering my position within the family as the resident chauffeur and problem solver. As a result I pushed aside plans with The Spaniard. He rode the crimson wave about this all weekend with a little bleeding into the Thanksgiving week. In casual conversation I had to listen to how my sister/friends always ruin our plans. My rebuttal to this was simple, grow up! Clearly he missed the memo disclosing that he is not the sun so my revolutions aren’t always around him.

In my defense, not that I should have to defend myself, I did make it plain that my weekend and holiday week was zip-lock tight. Maybe he should consider compromise, rip his arse off his shoulders, and partake in the holiday season especially ones that aren’t religious in nature. Technically Thanksgiving is an American holiday. He’s an American the last time I checked, dual citizenship and hashish. Although some celebrate it with Christian overtones it is not technically religious. If he embraced his American-ness a little he wouldn’t have been the odd man out for the past few weeks…I mean it makes sense to me. Hell he doesn’t hear me complain about his inability to give me a hug during Ramadan or the fact that most Fridays he’s conveniently unavailable. Of course the line is drawn in the sand at the mosque. I’d give major o_0 (stank eye) if he ever asked me to attend then I’d politely decline. My compromising extent stops there.

But anywho, Pudding Pop invited us over to her place for Thanksgiving dessert. We never showed but I did let her know it was just a maybe, nothing definite. Wander was pretty exhausted after late night practice and rising early to sing in the Philadelphia Thanksgiving Day Parade. I rode her exhaustion to the bank. I just wasn’t in the mood to cram into my cousin’s apartment and play board games. Hey I’d been running around carting people here and there on top of cooking, cleaning and stroking The Spaniard’s ego. Like any normal human, I was tired.

In any event Thanksgiving dinner was fantabulous. It was very intimate just my immediate family. The Little Brother’s floozy made other arrangements. It felt like old times in that we laughed it up all night and I was happy. I spent the following day with The Spaniard toy shopping for his niece and nephew and my Godson. Toys r Us had relatively decent sales. We joked about going broke for kids that aren’t even ours…I held back a mini panic attack under the guise of an awkward silence and kept it moving.

The infamous apartment conversation reared its ugly head again. I don’t know another way to communicate No other than No. I’m not interested in moving in with him right now! Note the time reference, I’m not saying ever, just not now. I know I’m hurting his feelings, men are so fragile, but I’m not ready for co-habitation without real commitment. And if you read real commitment as engagement ring you’d be 100% right, not that I’m close to being ready for that either. Besides the Little Brother hasn’t been feeling well lately and well he needs me. And as sad as it sounds my brother needing me is more important to me than playing house with The Spaniard. My brother has never let me down…clearly I haven’t let go of the past completely. I’m a bottler so lump it.

On Saturday I planned on spending time with The Best Friend searching for updates to my Godson’s room. Can you believe he’s six? I can’t. Anywho we scooped up some good finds, posters and other little odds and ends. Pudding Pop was still insisting on spending some time so I cut out early on my bestie and headed back to the city to play board games with the familia. Added bonus, my cousin from Tampa was here celebrating my ex-aunt’s birthday and had left her kids with Pudding Pop. This was my first time seeing her two daughters and the last time I’d seen her son he was so shy it was like not seeing him.

Y’all know I’m allergic to children under age ten except my Godson, but the kids were cute and I actually had a pretty decent time. Awkwardly holding the smallest one wasn’t horrible and she had that scumptilicious new baby smell with pudgy cheeks, that’s how they sucker folks…not I! By 10:30PM I was beyond tired and had to call it a night even though the rug rats were wide awake. I have no clue what manufacturers put in those juice packs…probably coke of the snort-snort variety. Granted I’d been up since 4:00AM carting the Little Sister to the train station; yeah an older sister’s duties are never done.

It didn’t even seem like the Little Sister was home…could be because I didn’t let her stay at my apartment. Such as life!

In other news, The Man Wander Married ended up being rushed to the hospital. It seems his lungs collapsed and they needed to remove a bubble or something like that. Sounds eerily like cancer to me. Instead of calling my mom or having someone call one of us he opted to call his sister who in-turn had her daughter send me a FB message. Yeah you read that right, a FB message. Of all the random arse backward stupid hashish!

Mind you I’ve had the same cell phone number since 1999…WTF!

I feel torn about his recent health development. I mean when I was rushed to the hospital The Man Wander Married (TMWM) wasn’t even notified and even if he was he wouldn’t have shown, of this I’m certain. My brother’s been in the hospital several times this year and TMWM was ghost. When Wander called, because I didn’t see the FB message until much later in the day which is why FB is not a reasonable way to notify someone of an emergency, I thought she wanted me to drive her to the hospital. Luckily that wasn’t the reason for her call. She was just informing me, and had taken the stance since he didn’t call her there was no reason for her to show her face. I tend to agree. Of course there is a history here that’s not baked into this blogpost, but it’s already too long. Bottom line, I have daddy issues…not of the screw older men nature but daddy issues all the same.

And as much as I wanted to be fazed by him being rushed to the hospital I wasn’t. I felt worse when my best friend told me her grandmother’s husband’s back in the hospital battling cancer again. This probably makes me a bad person. I should care that my dad is in a hospital bed with an injury that kills people. I do care, don’t get me wrong. I’ve said a prayer for him every day since finding out but I don’t feel like I need to sit at his bedside faking tears, ruining mascara pretending we have a relationship. We don’t! And we haven’t for years. But he’s still my dad and has much as I dislike him, I once gave him a birthday card that read you’ve taught me how to love a person I don’t like, there will always be a part of me that smiles for him…albeit a very small part. Hell we share DNA, and that has to count for something, right?

The Spaniard almost got karate chopped in the throat for sideways insinuating my wrongness for not visiting TMWM in the hospital. Don’t worry I give out cyber chops too…I kid a little!

Anywho, say a prayer for The Man Wander Married that he gets better so he can continue to be the a-hole that he is….yeah I know I’m wrong #dontjudgeme!

Random Ishkabibbles: Leaving My Consulting Family

2010-11-12T18:15:00.001-05:00

Don't they look like douchebags!!!!

Leaving my current career path as a consultant is bittersweet. How cliché does that sound? But it’s all the way true. Although I detest the politics of consulting, robotic human vampires are not the friendliest folk to work with; I learned a lot in a very short period of time. When I started consulting I thought I was the hashish and pissed excellence! I quickly realized everyone in consulting pisses excellence, in his/her own mind. Arrogance, with a side of Backstabbing Bish is a prereq to surviving or at least be thought of as truly the hashish. While I’m Facebook friends with Arrogance, Backstabbing and I don’t mesh like that. Seriously, the OG in the sky doesn’t need one more thing to smite me for in the hereafter, I’m just saying, He doesn’t!

And so began my undoing as a consultant. Don’t get it twisted, I consult well. My counselor, Spaz Manager, told me that my future in consulting was bright. I have all the major ingredients the right amount of snark, technical skills and the power of manipulation. A heavy touch of Mani is healthy for any consultant. My problem, I don’t like manipulating people, especially people who genuinely want help out of a sticky eff’d up situation. Consulting is the business of selling ideas that everyday people can come up with if given enough time.

Unfortunately most people don’t have enough time to devote 16+ hour days for ten weeks to one issue, insert consulting firm stage left. We come in, typically 25-32 year olds telling C-suite executives (chief executive officer, chief financial officer etc etc.,), 45-55 year olds, how they’ve driven companies to the ground and here are the five things that will make it right. At times this is met with hostility. And I can dig it. If some 21- 23 year old tried to school me I’d probably just laugh and dismiss her/his Souljahboy listening arse with the quicks. In my mind, there ain’t one thing a Katie Perry wanna-be can teach me outside of the dougie…and I already know that dance. But the point, ageism sucks but it’s all the way understandable.

What I hate, I mean really really hate, the bulldozer consulting leveled on my life. For the past three years I’ve lived, breathed and eaten consulting to the detriment of my personal life. Honestly I can’t remember what I did before I consulted, that’s pretty janky. I asked the Little Brother and he was like, I don’t remember you not being a consultant. You know what that means not only did consulting suck the fun out of Faith it also evaporated my former life stream. I didn’t know one decision could have so much downstream impact…Damn!

Despite ruining my social life, and somewhat being to blame for the shambles I find my “relationship” in, there were things about consulting that did it for me. I’m a type A personality if that’s not already apparent. Type A folk make excellent consultants because we are overachieving, workaholic, stress junkies with borderline control issues and an inability to relax. Yeah for the most part that is me. I thrive in high stress situations. I’ll go out on a limb and say that I crave high stress situations because I find that out of those situations I derive the most pleasure. The greatest reward for hard work is success, and success depends on your definition but I get such a rush of adrenaline if I can solve a problem faster and better than anyone else. This and the reward points for airlines and hotels I will miss the most.

On the flip side I recognize that I can’t tolerate an environment surrounded by people who are just like me. I can’t stand it. Can you imagine working in a place where everyone is wired exactly the same? There was not one laid back person in the whole bunch. I mean even the actuaries who typically are mild mannered individuals were racing at speeds faster than lightening.

Consulting breeds’ burnouts and alcoholics rolled into the cliché of working and playing hard, of this I’m sure. I can’t tell you the number of Senior Managers I’ve seen take down multiple bottles of vino in a single sitting night after night. It kind of comes with the territory. And since drinking ain’t my vice of choice I had very little outlet for all the extra-ness and intensity of consulting. Maybe after a small hiatus I’ll return...

Going back to industry appeals to the laid back chick hiding inside, I’d like her to be my co-pilot. Of course the bish at the wheel right now might have some issue with this decision. After the kidney stone incident with Texas I decided that I could no longer keep ignoring how much consulting changed me for the worse. My type A personality was at its highest not to mention I’d been sicker than I’d ever been in my entire life. It was time for a change. And while I truly dislike the idea of not being 150% busy all the time I know I need this break. Don’t get me wrong I’m still very much on target for what I want to do in my career but I’m taking a calculated risk by returning to industry right now. Who knows, maybe I’ll finish my screenplay!

The possibilities do seem endless right now…

Weekend Update: For Colored Girls - A Review

2010-11-05T06:52:00.002-04:00

Over the weekend I went to see For Colored Girls, not a Tyler Perry original, thank God but directed, produced and adapted by him. My first mind told me to avoid the debil that is TP aka Tyler Perry but all my chicitas were going and I didn’t want to spoil the party, especially my semi celebration. Last week I escaped the pits of hell. And when I say pits of hell I mean consulting. Anyone who’s ever been a consultant with one of the top firms will understand that analogy.

But I digress, For Colored Girls, was actually not horrible. Considering my distaste for the debil, that is TP, not horrible is a compliment. While TP rakes in tons of money running around as a 6ft gun toting Grandmother, who’s Grannie actually packs heat, I turn my nose up in utter boughie (second definition) disgust. I owns my boughie and I wears it well, it feels like velvet! His writing ability, quite pitiful and let’s not even talk about his total lack of film making skills. That hasn’t stopped him from sucking up tons of cash and getting who I consider to be A-B list actors to star in his productions. It is baffling but we are/were in a recession. I’m not gonna knock his hustle because he’s doing the damn thing, so much so the mofo lives in a castle in HotLanta. Yeah I said a castle; it’s like Buckingham effn Palace over there. TP has done well for himself proving talent means almost nothing.

But seriously the movie was not horrible. And here are the few reasons why it wasn’t horrible. Ntozake Shange is the hashish and potatoes. Please pick up the choreopoem and get ready to be impressed. It’s tough to get through because it’s raw and deep and most folk don’t like that. I lump myself in that category, so don’t take offense. I like my entertainment with heavy doses of hair gel, rachet low class slores (combination of sluts and whores) and orange tans, most days. That is a direct byproduct of the pits of hell I escaped from, there was but so much brain power I had left to digest the real.

Another reason the movie was not horrible, Kimberly Mudda-Effin Elise. That chile can act her hindparts off. Chops, she has it! During one of her monologues (using words penned by Ntozake not Perry thank God) she had me ready to cry…and I don’t cry, at least not in the public. She deserves an Oscar but she probably won’t get one because well like I said it wasn’t horrible and that’s a far cry from a good film. I was equally impressed with Anika Noni Rose and my OG Claire Huxtable slays these young bishes to pieces. I’m way partial to Claire; she’s a shero in my head! I heart these women for their performances. And to be honest, the wackness that is Janet J. pulled out an honorable mention. Janet snatched back to Penny on Good Times and actually was dare I say…believable. I know I shocked myself with that last one.

I won’t tell you how Janet J’s performance in Why Did I Get Married Too made Beyonce in anything look like an Academy Award winning actress. And the real question; why I even wasted my hard earned dollars on that rubbish…peer pressure.

Unfortunately having great actors perform amazing in a badly adapted play is not getting it. I likes me some Ms. Celie, a lot, but Failure her name is Whoopie. I’m quitting her so much right now because I expected and deserved more. Note to the Whoop-ster, keep your day job. Not to hashish all over her parade, she did have one decent scene but I’m not sure if it was decent because she was doing well, or if she was just the better of two bad actresses. I mean Thandie Newton is my girl, y’all saw Crash! She and I, friends in my head! But casting Thandie as a gutter-butt slore was in a word, horrible. Rumor has it that Mariah Carey was supposed to play the role but thank God for ~~pregnancy~~ small miracles because it might have been worse. We all know the Glitter mishap, I’m just saying.

But alas it was a Tyler Perry production and what is normally wrong with TP went wrong in this movie. Honestly I want him to take a screen writing class for dummies or at the absolute least learn how to make a three dimensional character. In reality people are more than a one trick pony. People, most anyway, are intricately complex which is the reason why I’m not throwing the rubbish I’m calling a screenplay out to folk just yet. If you love an art form, perfect it before letting it lose for mass consumption. Well maybe not perfect it but damn get a good grasp on it. Although I will say this movie is Tyler’s best work to date.

Damn it TP in the name of all things Perry-esque, learn the meaning of plot. For all it’s worth, the movie had none. The characters were just there and things were happening to them for no rhyme or reason. Or maybe that is the plot also known as life…I am digressing. By the first 30 minutes I could have told you how the movie was going to end, minus the kids getting thrown from the window by their alcoholic father, sorry I might have just spoiled it for someone. But otherwise I knew how it was going to end within the first half hour or so which makes me want my money back, just a little.

Not surprising and regular scheduled programming for Mr. Perry, men ain’t grits n’ hotcakes. Yeah that pretty much sums up the whole male cast minus boo in my head, Hill Harper…he is soooo smart it makes me cry a little on the inside sort of like that Native American who cries when we litter. Am I dating myself right now? Anywho it would stand to reason that if TP considers himself a ~~closet homosexual~~ good man than he can’t be the last. Regardless of the examples of ain’t grits n’ hotcakes men I’ve run across in my life I refuse to think that Tyler Perry, Hill Harper and The Little Brother are the only ones left floating around on the third rock from the sun. iRefuse (think I stole that language from Luuvie) to believe that. There’s some diamonds in the rough out there we just need to put in the elbow grease to shine them up.

What is equally frustrating maybe even more so than the ain’t grits n’ hotcakes men are the emasculated wimps. For the love of Yahweh! Most of the men I know aren’t missing testicles. Granted I haven’t done manual inspections on all of them but I’m sure the lacking of junk would have come up in random conversation. That aside I don’t think this truly represents the population at large. If anything some men would benefit from two drops of estrogen every once in awhile, I’m just saying guys being hard all the time ain’t always sezy.

And on another unrelated but related note, what’s the deal with in the basement abortion...there’s a Planned Parenthood-like shop in almost every urban neighborhood I can think of, I’m just saying. But I hearts Macy Gray like uck me pumps on a first date so I’m not gonna lose sleep over it.

Besides that abortion plot mishap down janky civil rights legacy lane, the themes of the movie ring true. The struggles of women, not just those of color, were spotlighted and I could appreciate the film for that. Tyler Perry much like Janet J receives an A for effort and an honorable mention for the film in its entirety. I mean not even an amazing writer/director could have pulled off For Colored Girls When the Rainbow is not Enuf without a hitch.

Week in Review: Taking a Calculated Risk and Third Time’s a Charm…I Hope!

2010-10-22T12:19:00.005-04:00

Buckle up the ride will be long and bumpy folks, but totally worth it...I hope!

For good reason, I’ve been missing in action. OK OK, not for good reason but at this point if you read my blog semi-regularly you know that work begins to consume most of my day and I have little time to write. In any man’s river, I’m going to catch you up on er-thang Faith since the anniversary of my born day.

Because the boy drama of my life is more exciting I’ll lead with work drama. Drum roll please, I gots me a new gig! No you didn’t read that wrong. No more galloping around the free and not so free world for me. I’ll be parked in an office, OK more like a dressed-up cubicle, in the largest building in downtown Philadelphia. Alls yeah friends, I’ll be working in risk management in the hopes of becoming one of the youngest regional risk managers for an entertainment powerhouse. That might include a change of residency to LA… flashy lights!

Hold the phone! Can you imagine me in LA? What What! Sun kissed tresses and an all year tan, who gone check me boo (in my Nene Leakes voice)? I know I went down a fantasy spiral for a minute but here’s another, moving west appeals to me more than finding Lance Gross butt butterball nekkid ready to dance in my bedroom. That’s major!

Vulgarity aside, I’ve always dreamed of a bi-coastal life. Not to mention, Model Friend already lives in the Hills. When opportunity knocks, opening the door is all I can do. On a practical note, I get my old life back. Yup, that means making plans with friends and actually attending.

Sidenote, I’m slightly nervous about the new position you know the whole am I making the right decision thing. If I can conquer this professional hurdle the race is already won. Taking on an uncomfortable experience only helps you grow as a person, in my opinion. I know I’m ready…I hope!

In boy news, Jon B. exited stage left with a big ole bang! During work hours he pulled a Brett Favre forcing me to change the iPhone settings, no more preview text messages. I was in the middle of a team room pounding the pavement when a ginormous schlong (no exaggeration) showed up. Sidenote: The man’s HUNG! I’m not a prude, however some things are just inappropriate. You don’t see me sending the vajajay via text and I would expect that an adult man would know that his peen is not welcome phone art, especially during work hours. And to add more grease to the pan, my phone sat between me and Juvenile Junior Staff Member. I pray he didn’t see the man meat. If he did, he didn’t mention it to me but of course that’s not typical office conversation.

Juvenile Junior Staff Member probably thinks I’m a freak #shamehernameisfaith!

Later that night I spoke very directly to Jon B. I asked him point-blank, are you trying to be my fcuk-friend? There was a long pause. Lately I’ve done away with tact! Since he’s sending his dcik through text, tact ain’t his strong suit either. His response, he didn’t think I was that type of girl but if I’m down, he’s down. Otherwise he’s really interested in “catching up.”

Hmmmm….again, catching up is reserved for old friends, not sure we qualify! I closed the door but left the window open, besides this peen picture misstep Jon B. ain’t too shabby. We did chat a scosh after the awkwardness of the fcuk-friend wore off. Turns out JB’s back in school and starting a non-profit. Sidenote, ladies if you’re in the market for a Jon B look a-like I can hook you up with a number. Added bonus being the peen! In any man’s river we haven’t spoken in a couple of weeks so I guess he smelled what I was cooking. His number’s saved in my phone though in case I need to dust him off and put him back on stage.

Mailroom Boy’s sporadic texting is slightly annoying. He keeps trying to re-insert himself into my life-space as if we shared something magical. Of course I can’t blame him, I am fantabulous. Sorry, I detoured down vain Faith lane, excuse my obnoxiousness. But seriously I think being friends with MB is counterproductive. We do have fun when we’re together but his brand of tea suits me not.

I’m just going to come out and say it, me and the Spaniard are together again. Somewhere inside of me lives a masochist! That might have gone too far but you know what I’m saying. I pray the third time’s a charm. Before you run off thinking I caved because I’m weak, I’m not and the thought has already crossed my mind. We hashed our relationship almost to death over the past few weeks. It shows effort on his part because men hate talking about anything, right? I feel we’re in a good place…most days.

The Spaniard has, for lack of a better term, respect issues which manifest in a lack of communication skills. Before going apeshit he’s not physically or verbally abusive, that hashish doesn’t fly in Faith-zone. In my mind, it’s partially religi-cultural. He’s an Arab Muslim, not typically known for their respect of womenfolk. I’m not knocking his religion or his place of origin. However, I do understand breaking a horse requires patience. Not to mention lifetime lessons aren’t unlearned in a day. I can’t expect him to change who he is at his core but I do expect behavior modifications. I told him this directly. Remember not about tact these days!

Before you menfolk get all snippy with me and say you shouldn’t be with someone if you want to change him, hold the phone! Change may not be the appropriate word but it’s what I used, so lump it. And for hashishes and giggles I’ll give you a personal example. Old Faith was a snarky bish. I’m comfortable admitting that because she is Faith no more. Years of childhood iskabibbles coupled with an undeniable mountain of arrogance created a monster. It hit me one day that if I ever wanted to form lasting connections with people I’d have to change my ways. Not that I needed to change who I was at my core (I’m good peoples) however, my behavior needed a make-over. And now, I’m still sarcastic but I wouldn’t call myself a bish. I understand the importance of treating others with the same respect I expect in return. To get it you gotta give it, works the same way for love, Booyah!

Anywho, I told The Spaniard his leash is short. I’m not walking him and shoveling hashish this time around. Either he wants to be with me, in an adult relationship, or he doesn’t. If he does, act right! And the same rules apply for me.

Ruining a relationship ain’t a one man/woman job, so I’ll take my share of the blame. My issue, I’m a non-confrontational passive-aggressive bottler, look who read a psyche book this weekend! It’s not in my nature to tell someone he hurt my feelings, it seems so wimpy. I’d rather just let the uncomfortableness (not a word) of the moment pass and dictate the resolution.

Example, The Spaniard makes tentative plans with me but never solidifies. Day of said tentative plans I’m stuck in limbo, sometimes he shows and other times he does not. In his mind the plans aren’t concrete so there’s no reason to say boo to me if he doesn’t intend to go through with said plans. In my mind this is not only rude it’s all the way DIRESPECTFUL, caps oh so necessary! Instead of piping up and delivering major o_O (stank eye) coupled with sistah girl tude, I prefer to make other arrangements. Problem averted, partially. Back up plans solve my time issues but don’t cure the underlying disease, his total lack of respect for my time and his commitment to me. It also causes issues if he’s only running late for said tentative plans and he shows up to empty house, restaurant, park…you smell what I’m cooking. In those situations, which happen more often than you may think, I have to deal with his tude. Granted his tude and my tude are way different…I don’t like being ignored. He is the king of ig and it literally drives me to levels of anger I didn’t even know existed.

Seeing red can’t be healthy. Sheesh for a bottler my emotions run high, right? I need to chase my chill pill with a dash of Vodka!

End of the story, we’re both working on making it right. Did I add we’re both stubborn as hell and neither likes admitting wrong?

In any man’s river, The Spaniard asked me to move in with him…

A Few Weeks in Review: Woodwork Crawlers feeling out the Season of Cuddling

2010-09-26T08:39:00.003-04:00

Chello bloggers and blog-ettes I’m back with a little ditty I like to call the Week in Review.

When last we spoke I was battling Hurricane Spaniard. A surly storm that arrived on my shores a few months shy of two years ago. Sad as I am to say it burdens me still. As soon as I think I’ve out maneuvered the storm it loops the corner and hails all over my parade. In this case the Summer O’ Men…causing it to end just as abruptly as it started.

I agreed to have lunch with the Spaniard. After Wander made the waterworks the other week I felt I owed him and largely myself to put whatever we have to bed. Well much like fighting a pre-pubescent boy to shower and a toddler to sleep resolving our hashish wasn’t getting done over one lunch. We met at this quaint French spot that sells the most amazing crepes on 6th and Bainbridge. I can’t remember the name but it matters not.

Over a few savory and sweet crepes we discussed the relationship. A lot of our problems revolve around communication. In addition to him thinking I know exactly what’s going on in his head he has an issue with apologizing. Stubborn much! And granted I’m probably the most arrogant, unapologetically sarcastic person one will ever meet but for folks close to my heart I push those character flaws to the side, most of the time. I recounted the late for the train station incident where I got my ass chewed out by a banshee aka Spaz Manager. And still he didn’t offer an apology. Just coughed up an excuse, he confused the times. If assault weren’t against the law I would have hit him with my glass of water. He’s an asshole, sometimes! We parted ways that day with a hug and peck on the cheek.

Side note: When this man touches me I feel electricity run through my core…this cannot be a good thing.

Since we weren’t together I didn’t expect a gift for my birthday. Actually we’ve been conveniently unattached when my birthday rolls around. In any event I spent the early part of the day with Wander, Pudding Pop and Granny SJ. In the evening Wander took me shopping and I headed home relatively early, 10ish. Around 12 I get a text message from The Spaniard asking me to come downstairs. My first mind said to go downstairs and see what he wants but my second mind said total bad idea. Of course my first mind won this battle and I took the trip down the interior stairs of my apartment and was greeted by 5 or more bouquets of flowers, mostly lilies. Sometimes he’s not an asshole!

I was proud of myself that night because despite raging hormones amongst other things I kept my resolve and sent him on his way with nothing more than a Spank You kindly and a peck on the cheek….ok the lips but you get the point. I left most of the flowers on the doorstep. What was I going to do with 5 bouquets of flowers in my apartment?

After sharing the birthday flowers story with some of my close friends they were all somewhat surprised I didn’t give in. And The Best Friend, always a Spaniard supported was her usual self and told me I was dumb for not blurring the boundaries and taking a short ride on the ho train. Of course sex does not love make, so sometimes her advice is to be taken with a grain of salt.

But I digress.

Pretty Skin faded to the land of obscurity, also known as Never-Never land. By no fault of his own, well maybe a little, but with work and my see-saw appetite for The Spaniard I didn’t have the stomach to digest anymore of PS’ references to me as a man or his otherwise lack of genuine communication skills. I’m sorry I just can’t. Believe me there was no judgment here, I thought and still think some chiquitta will be hella happy to find and refine Pretty Skin. He’s a diamond in need of a little elbow grease.

PS did surface briefly this weekend. I quipped that I hadn’t been discarded to the do not call list. And his response was no but if you think it didn’t contain a man reference you’d be wrong. Ugh! Anywho I asked out of pure curiosity what he was up to this weekend. He responded that he had his daughter Saturday but would be free later in the evening. Clearly my conversation politeness was misconstrued. I told him that I had belated birthday plans with my cousin but I hope he enjoyed his weekend.

Was that rude of me?

Mailroom Boy to my utter surprise crawled from under his you got to be kidding me rock with a happy birthday salute. And believe it or not he was only about two days late despite having a phone reminder. His words not mine. Being late to everything but work is part of his je ne sais quoi…not. I was touched, don’t remember his birthday but that’s beside the point. Once I check out I check out, not that we had anything serious…please check the $14 incident that broke the camel’s back.

Since that time he’s been texting me on the regular. He even sideways mentioned that his daughter asked about me and she never asks about his friends. Hmm, I’m still not interested but am rather impressed that he’s getting his hashish together. Last we spoke Mailroom Boy was living in his aunt’s house, carless and working in the mailroom because it was easy. Now he’s taking classes to get his degree, driving his own car and living by himself. Not too shabby if I do say so myself.

Even Jon B. jumped back on stage for a small cameo in this show I call my life. I cancelled his performance before it could even start though. After the traditional how have you been what have you been up to chatter he asked if I ‘d like to come by on Sunday to “catch up.” Is that what the kool kids call it these days? Considering we’ve only known each other for roughly three months time and about a month of it we had no real communication I’m not sure we have any catching up to do. I mean in my book catching up is reserved for friends you’ve known for years but speak to infrequently because of schedules or proximity of course I could be wrong. Clearly his Kangol is too tight. I told him it was doubtful I’d be stopping by to “catch up.”

I’m seriously considering chucking up the deuces. I think Chris Breezy may have been onto something…all the bullshits for the birds…you judge it!

Stream of Consciousness: Ramblings on My Birthday!

2010-09-18T08:30:00.003-04:00

It’s funny I’ve been going through one of the rockiest emotional moments I can remember. I would say even rockier than when I finally lost the Future Ex Husband. And even though I’ve never told the story about the Future Ex Husband and it is a story I didn’t feel as much a failure as I’ve felt lately. With him I just felt numb. A long time passed before I rubbed the numbness out of my veins. It never occurred to me that we wouldn’t be married living as the modern day Huxtables even though our relationship was a seesaw of together and apart.

Failure is my greatest fear. Don’t try to break into any of my accounts because you now know one of my security question answers. I fight against failure every day. This is part of the reason I did so well in school and ultimately do well professionally. I refuse to do anything but well, I repeat refuse. This is not in a childish get mine before someone can get theirs type of thing I just put in 200% at all times. It has paid off very well for me. I have a work ethic that most don’t, in particular those of my generation, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. I delay personal gratification at the expense of excelling professionally.

And I do this intentionally. I deal well in a world where I can be emotion-less. Work requires attention but it doesn’t require vulnerability. It doesn’t have to see me stripped bare to love and ultimately reward me. With the Future Ex Husband I was totally exposed and open and vulnerable but in the end it didn’t work. And when it was over I played the What If game for years about what should have could have been. Eventually I accepted that in life you will have growing moments and losing the Ex was one of mine.

Losing the Future Ex Husband taught me a correct yet emotionally isolating lesson about love, in order to avoid pain you can’t get in too deep. And this lesson grew and took hold as the result of the groundwork paved by a troubled childhood that witnessed dysfunctional love. Every guy after the Ex, I held at a distance. It wasn’t necessary to divulge all things about me because I wasn’t going to be around long enough for it to matter. Whenever I bored or at the first sign of trouble I ended things…sometimes abruptly others with slow fades but never ever on someone else’s terms. I shielded my heart well and escaped those men painlessly and unscathed. Always looking back on my time with them as yet another life experience but never a true relationship. I’d tried a relationship and it didn’t work, mistakes are to be learned from and not repeated.

Not recently! The Spaniard caught me in the middle of a perfect storm. I’d just gotten settled into the consultant game. And by settled I mean figured out the circus and began falling into the petty politics. My family was in the midst of crisis...not uncommon but I was truly emotionally raw from losing my Pop-Pop. And to add insult to injury 21 Jump Street shattered a 7-year friendship and any hopes of a courtship with the live in girlfriend bomb. In the midst of that train wreck unassuming genuinely nice guy walks in and provides a much-needed outlet.

He wasn’t trying to solve any of my ish because that’s what I’m good at, solving ish. He was just there, if I needed to laugh or shout or ~~naked mambo~~ talk or whatever with no agenda. He didn’t want anything from me and that was a relief. It seems that everyone in my life wants something from me and it was nice for once that someone didn’t need my advice, time, money, car, opinion, guidance and the list goes on. I found comfort there.

And even though I outwardly fought against the idea of coupling up with him I took a tiny leap of faith outside of my comfort zone into a relationship with the Spaniard. It felt right at the time. But when it ended, it ended badly. I felt deceived. I felt abused and I felt like the person who originally didn’t want anything from me was a fraud. The one person who was supposed to above all others not want to hurt me stabbed me with a rusty steak knife and left me to bleed out in the streets. And as much as I wanted to gouge out his eyes for being a liar and a whole lot of other things I was more enraged with myself. Me, the person who writes people’s stories accurately within an hour of meeting him couldn’t see through The Spaniard’s veneer. Failure her name is Faith.

Or at least that’s how I felt. I masked that feeling most of the summer with the madness of dating random boys. It was fun but came tumbling to a halt with one text message. A message that unearthed those buried feelings of self-rage slapping them to the surface and forcing me to deal. My preference isn’t to deal. As I mentioned emotion-less environments suit me well.

They say the ones who hurt us the most are the ones closest to us…do you believe that?

But anyway it’s my birthday and I’m going to table this rambling for now…

Side note: Are you an emotion bottler or a wearer of your feelings on your sleeve?

This Week’s Joy: Moms Are Something Special

2010-09-06T10:39:00.001-04:00

After Wander and The Little Brother left church I was given the privilege of driving both them and myself to Uncle Mid Life Crisis’ barbeque. I didn’t mind. The more time I spent away from my phone the more time I didn’t have to think about how I feel. If you haven’t pieced the puzzle together me and feelings are on opposite ends of the picture frame. Besides feelings are for the winter, technically I can avoid this for a few more weeks, can’t I?

As I sat in the car with Wander contemplating how one lives with a bruised ego and a broken heart she offered this morsel, “You don’t have to go through this alone. I know you love him. Men are assholes but I have a feeling you will work this out with my future son-in-law. If you need to talk I’m here. I don’t always want to hear about the good things”

Speechless! Does she have some sort of telepathy? It must be some innate mother gene that allows her to sense my discomfort. I couldn’t even verbalize how I felt to her. I hate crying but I couldn’t hold it anymore. Crying ain’t sezy. Luckily it wasn’t one of those snot nose cries instead just silent tears ruining my mascara. Afterwards I felt a little bit better but I didn’t get any answers besides my mom’s inside my heart and I likes it.

Week In Review: Staffing Snafus, Unentertaining Convos with Pretty Skin, End of Summer BBQs, and Internal Conflicts

2010-09-05T10:26:00.006-04:00

Most days consulting frustrates the hashish out of me. Moreover when Senior Managers escape into the land of make believe expecting 20 weeks worth of work in 15 weeks I go apeshit (inside – hey momma needs her job and I just got me a raise). It’s even more frustrating when the managers sell this work and get clients to believe it’s humanly possible. Granted most clients think consultants are robots in human packaging but I’m here to say this is not the case, at least not for me.

In any event this Technology Senior Manager, The Hobbit, sold a piece of work that required at least 14 weeks of full time consulting for 4 resources. And when I say full time consulting I mean 60-hour weeks, as this is the typical schedule. Instead The Hobbit sold the project for 10 weeks with 3 full time resources. Clearly he missed a very important memo about true possibilities.

In addition to under staffing the project, the Hobbit also pulled in the absolute complete a$ backward resource to manage the project a butt spanking new manager to the firm, Stutter Step. With only 4-5 weeks of company experience under Stutter’s belt and no actual project experience, he was eaten alive by the client by the middle of the first week. The slaying performed by the client project manager, Russian Sorcerer, was of epic nature. Thank God, and I know this is going to sound shady as hashish, I’d already fully aligned myself in her graces because two heads might have gotten chopped. Hey consulting is 25% politics and 75% work…I’m just being honest.

In my defense as well as the team, we tried to cover Stutter’s mistakes and limit his interaction with Russian Sorcerer as much as possible. To his detriment he kept interjecting with ridonkulous questions (in consulting there is such a thing as a dumb inquiry). Additionally he kept starting, ending and throwing in the middle of every sentence the phrase you know or you know what I’m saying. Of course they don’t know what you’re saying because you haven’t actually said anything. Communication skills of all kinds, written and verbal, are absolute requirements to last in the consulting business

Attempting to mask Stutter’s incompetence the Hobbit brought in a second manager but this only helped to illuminate his lagging skills. In the end the client formally requested Stutter’s removal from the project. Bummer for him, it will not reflect well within the firm that he was removed from his first project in particular because it wasn’t just a personality conflict but an actual lack of appropriate talent.

On the way home from the client site I decided to return PS’ calls from earlier in the week. As it turns out Pretty Skin would be out of town for the holiday. I learned this after listening to him talk about nothing for damn near an hour on my drive back from Jersey, did I mention the client site is in Warren County NJ, which makes for a 2hr drive home. PS did mention he’d like to take a trip with me to Maine. I’d told him that Maine is nice if you like lobster and lighthouses and bed n breakfast-llike cities and stuff like that to which he replied that none of those things really interested him. Because I enjoy being stabbed in the eye with glass I asked why. To which he responded, “Man cause!” I didn’t have the energy to remind him that I’ve had no sex change in the past week and would appreciate not being called a man…it’s probably just his thing but I don’t like it, sorry!

Y’all already know I’m siddity, it’s a gift!

After a politically charged and extremely tense workweek coupled with mindless chitter chatter (I can’t really call it conversation) from PS I was more than ready to enjoy the summer’s last hoorah, barbecues. Fellow Traveler, Nurse Friend and Uncle Mid Life Crisis all tossed invites my way. Unfortunately my hair affair shattered any attempts of making Fellow Traveler’s but Nurse Friend and Uncle Mid Life’s were both still on the table and I felt like indulging.

Both provided a necessary distraction. I laughed with Nurse Friend’s family as if they were my own and I was given an honorary pass. I laughed with my family like old times with little drama. I mean it wouldn’t be a family gathering without a little ball busting and ribbing. And yes I needed those laughs to mask all the other emotional hashish (technical term) I was and am still working through.

If you haven’t guessed this has everything to do with the Spaniard. It’s funny I’m sensing a theme. I can’t shake him. Either I’m a lunatic or madly obsessively in love with this man, at this point I’m throwing money on both just to cover all bases.

Right before my pick up from the Best Friend to head to Nurse Friend’s barbecue I get a call from the Spaniard. In my defense all his prior calls and text messages since our last “discussion” I left unanswered. Everyone has her breaking point. For the life of me I don’t know why I decided to on the second ring just pick up the phone...here I go again with the glass shards in my eyes.

Me: What do you want?

The Spaniard: You.

Me: Please don’t be funny I don’t feel like this today.

The Spaniard: How are you doing?

Me: How should I be doing? You’ve become a stalker and won’t take leave me the hell alone as an answer. I hate my job most days and my bra is a little tight. Otherwise I’m comfy cozy, how about you?

The Spaniard: Why do you do that?

Me: Do what?

The Spaniard: You know what I’m talking about.

Me: Well would you prefer I cry...it’s not really my slice of cake but I can if it’s gonna make you feel better. I don’t have time for this. I don’t want…

The Spaniard: It’s not always about what you want. You do realize that you weren’t in this alone. How I feel counts for something. Faith, I love you. You can’t change that. I want you back.

Me: (His Name) I’m not dealing with this right now. I can’t deal with this right now. I won’t deal with this right now. The Best Friend’s here I’m on my way to Nurse Friend’s family barbecue.

The Spaniard: Promise to call me back.

Me: No

The Spaniard: Call me back.

Me: Fine…whatever…I’ll call you back.

This smells like déjà vu. Wasn’t I here around this time last year having the same conversation? Oh wait the last time I was in Vancouver. So I already know how this story ends don’t I. With me looking like an a$$ for the second, no wait third time crying over someone who probably doesn’t deserve my tears.

Logic suggests that I run for the hills but you can’t control who you love….who said that to me…

This Week's Joy: My Blogging Clique

2010-08-27T17:53:00.003-04:00

I Love Blogging!!!!!!

Yesterday I woke up feeling blah. It happens from time to time. I’m still working my way through emotional ish about work, the Spaniard and my family. Yesterday the weight of the world sat on my shoulders or at least that’s how it felt and instead of my normal routine after waking I picked up my laptop and began perusing some of my usual blog suspects.

Scanning my blog roll I noticed that Nydgo and Lotus B had new posts. In my gloom I let my fingers take me into someone else’s reality to escape mine for a second. This is one of the things I love about reading blogs. Blogs allow me to live for a brief time in someone else’s skin. In that skin I experience new things as well as confirm some of the ish in my own life. That skin validates some of my life experience and from time to time provides new perspective on similar situations.

Women are deep puddles…I am not adrift alone… those gems dropped from Nydgo made me think about how supportive my best friend has been of late. She’s listened as my heart contradicts my mind about boys and family with no judgment and her most clever jokes to date. It’s keeping me grounded.

It’s just a simple twist of fate that we are who we are and that we have what we have… indeed! Lotus B preached to me through wordpress. And it’s so effing true. The biggest difference between me and that guy last night who asked for a dollar isn’t my fantabulous education or my inclination at stringing some words together or my ability to razzle dazzle a group of people during presentations, vain much. Dollar Dude and I are the same with different circumstance! What I walked away with, smile for the small things that are going right in your life and try not to dwell on the negative.

So this week’s joy: My Blogging Clique (in my head) in no specific order:

Week in Review: Clearing the Roster, Lingering Doubts, Block Parties in North Philthy and Tattoos at Midnight

2010-08-23T10:28:00.002-04:00

My new inspiration!!

After my last week of emotional turmoil I was ready to wipe the slate clean. And by clean I mean get rid of excess baggage weighing me down…in other words cut some of the strings on these going no where courtships.

Rounding up the usual suspects, Zack Morris, Trini Man, Jamerican, Jon B and Mr. Late Nite…deleted. This leaves room for a new line up for fall or to decide on my actual feelings for Pretty Skin. Are there feelings there...I’m not sure there are? At the end of the day he’s a nice guy but as we know nice guys finish last. And not for nothing being a nice guy doesn’t automatically enable you to set up residence on the island.

Nice guy = boring guy, the jury’s still out on this one????

Of late, I’ve been beating myself up about Pretty Skin. Despite his purple elephant he is what I say I’m looking for…mostly. Considering his elephant, the fact that he has a child is a molehill. And y’all know how I feel about men with children. His lack of a steady tax-paying job, while still wearing fly gear is a bit questionable; I will reserve my accusations for a later date, I saw rubber banded money stacks and had a flashback of younger dumber Faith. I live under the philosophy don’t ask questions whose answers you aren’t prepared for. In this case, if PS responded that he fell back on his ways of old…I’m not prepared to have that type of thing in my life. Been down that road before and don’t want to go back!

Outside of Pretty Skin’s annoying reference to me by male descriptors as in man (I think this is his favorite word) he hasn’t done anything that would suggest booting him off the island. Of course as the Best Friend has told me time and time again, you can’t create feelings where feelings don’t exist. Kissing this man is no more stimulating than writing a check…and mama hates paying bills. There’s no spark. Am I overlooking his sezy? Maybe I need to dig beneath the surface and underneath I’ll find a guy who likes to travel (outside of the neighborhood), enjoys art and all types of music, dabbles in philosophy, not afraid to voice his political opinion and enjoys a scary movie every once and again. That last part is ginormously important. The last two guys I took seriously refused to watch scary movies, punks!

Maybe it’s too soon for me to move on. Maybe I need to fester in the unresolved feelings that I have for the Spaniard.

Anywho, earlier in the month, Pretty Skin invited the chicas and I to his block party. For those out of the know Philadelphia in the summer is block party central. On any given weekend in the city there are probably at least 10-12 city approved and 20-25 unsanctioned block parties happening simultaneously. I was less than enthused but I’d agreed to swing by, a woman of my word. I drug Nurse Friend with me to “enjoy” the festivities.

It was decent for what it was. I expected to see a whole lot of tomf*ckery and hosh*t but the residents kept it to a minimum. Pretty Skin intro-ed me to some members of the family, cool. I met more of PS’ friends (one of which took a strong liking to Nurse Friend, she wasn’t feeling him but the other one was right up her alley…gotta figure out his marital situation) and saw a whole slew of chicks giving mad stank eye (o_0). I had to laugh at this. Chicas chicas chicas it really isn’t that serious if you want Pretty Skin he is yours for the taking, I lay no claim. While he is physically a sight to see I’m rarely swayed, talking potential boo, by a pretty face. I like to know there’s something under the hood worth inspecting.

Side note PS never introduced me to his daughter, I respect him for that even though she was there. No need for introductions when neither of us knows where this is going. And I sensed hella tense vibes when a certain chick of video hoe caliber strolled her way up to his family’s table. Sometimes you can just smell that two people have done the naked mambo, giving out awkward body no touch hugs, you feel me?

The best part of the day was when Pretty Skin’s auntie (I say auntie because she’s from the south) jumped up and started dancing in the middle of the street breaking nothing down but the air. In her mind, she was getting it but what stopped the record for me, Auntie flashing vajayjay…me no likey the vajayjay. By the time everyone started doing line dances a la electric slide I was at my limit.

My friends forewarned the Electric Slide and any of his bastard children are off limits at any function I hold.

Pretty Skin and I parted ways with a single kiss and a hug. Did I ever tell y’all that hugs make me uncomfortable? I always feel presume from the hugger to put some emotion into it and if I’m not digging you my body betrays the lies my face and tongue sometimes tell.

Again no true sparks…I want to fade to black no one else exists and I hear music playing when I kiss him…but I can’t make feeling exist where there are none. With the Future Ex Husband I used to hear this and with the Spaniard I heard this…everyone inspires his own song…I want that feeling back!

This could be a sign or I could be over analyzing, it’s one or the other!

In random news, I ended the night in pain…getting inked. On the inside of my left wrist sits the cutest little super detailed humming bird. How do I plan to explain this to CEO’s of fortune 500 companies…I don’t. My answer to them is simple and all the way ghettofab…stay in ya lane homie and watch ya neck also known as keep your mouth shut and mind your business.

Humming birds stand for peace, love and happiness. I need a large helping of all three. Tattoos are cathartic. When my Pop-Pop passed instead of dealing, I got inked and let the physical pain mask the emotional. Physical pain is easy (for me at least) it stings for a minute, maybe even an hour…emotional pain can last a lifetime. You judge it!

Week In Review-In: Sometimes I Make Bad Decisions…

2010-08-16T13:35:00.001-04:00

On Tuesday instead of working in the office I opted to work from home because it gave me the opportunity to wear my pajamas all day long. It was great! That is one of the benefits of consulting. My office exists wherever I have Internet access. If ever I find a new position this will be one of the few things I miss about consulting.

If you recall I agreed to “chill” with Jon B on Tuesday evening. In the back of my mind I considered, strongly, cancelling but sometimes curiosity gets the best of me. As you know curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought her back.

I knew what this chilling would entail, hosh*t. Not that I’m above hosh*t because I’m not sometimes but I am somewhat feeling Pretty Skin and Jon B has done the major slide from grace. But who said liking someone was a prerequisite…

Remember that scrumptilicious text pic that made me even consider hosh*t with Jon B, yeah total angle shot but workable. Granted I didn’t really hold up my part of the bargain either, my enthusiasm level was on a 2 out of 10. We ended early and as I pulled away from his cul-de-sac block I waved goodbye and good riddance to Jon B. The feeling was way mutual. Our parting hug spoke for itself. It was one of those trying not to touch you even though I’m touching you kind of things, way awkward. Everyone doesn’t fit with everyone you judge it!

In even more depressing news, the Spaniard crawled from underneath his asshole rock. This is surprising and not surprising simultaneously. His message was true to his form.

Not sure if you tried to reach me or not but I got a new number since I came back home. I just wanted to say hi, see how you’re doing and let you know that I miss you.

Typical!

Let me dissect his message for the sake of running my head into a wall.

Not sure if you tried to reach me or not but I got a new number since I came back home… which actually means he knows I didn’t try to get in touch with him but he had to find a “logical” reason to get in touch with me. You know just in case I needed him for something I’d have to know he had a new number since returning from “our” vacation that he went on alone.

…I just wanted to say hi, see how you’re doing…, yeah sure! What he really wants to know is if I still have enough feelings for him to take a walk on the ho side of life. I don’t!

…and let you know I miss you. LOL. Of course! This is the panty dropping back up! He wants me to believe while he was gallivanting around Spain playing friendly with old chums and family he actually thought about me. Hmmm, I don’t buy it for one second.

I didn’t respond the first day. I couldn’t! Fits of uncontrollable anger welled up in me every time I thought about the text. The Best Friend said I should take the ho stroll, at least I’d be in better spirits…she thinks too physically. Sometimes a roll in the hay is more than a roll in the hay. Nurse Friend said ignore, ignore ignore. My decision was somewhere in the middle.

It’s funny how things change. You know the last time I saw you in person you were talking about marrying me. I’ve been really happy the past few months without you. I’d like to continue that level of happiness. I’m gonna ask you a favor, if there was ever a part of you that cared about me, please don’t call or text me again. I wish you the best.

After sending that text message and deleting traces of his new number from my phone, it felt final.

It was not.

He called…of course! I had the will power to ignore the first. He called again. My will power waned by that point. He asked something in Spanish. He does this from time to time; I used to think it was cute. When we were out, surrounded by groups of people he would speak to me in Spanish and even though I know tons of people speak Spanish it felt like he was speaking just for my benefit.

¿Por qué no me amas?

For those out of the Spanish loop, that means, why don’t you love me…I hate him for this. Cleary he doesn’t recall our last conversations/arguments before his departure to Spain. How I can’t count on him. How he doesn’t respect my feelings. How he doesn’t listen to my wants or desires…bottom-line how he’s a selfish a$$hole.

His selective memory fuels my anger. The argument that ensued was of an epic nature but I won’t go into the details for my own sanity just know by the end he agreed reluctantly to let me have my peace.

Shortly afterwards Jon B sent me a message via yahoo messenger. I was curt. Sometimes the messenger gets shot.

The rest of the weekend, way low key, I mean after that emotionally draining experience the last thing I needed was male female interaction. I hibernated with a few of my closest friends and tried to keep my mind off of the What If Game!

Week in Review: Two Men, One Summer & That Thing

2010-08-09T19:52:00.007-04:00

As the summer rounds the bases on fall I’m busy reflecting. Yeah I know that we technically have about 4 more weeks left however, I can smell da rain coming – in my Sofia from The Color Purple voice. It’s been fun! I accomplished the summer ‘10 goal: meet a bunch of random guys. Gone on plenty of dates and burned more daytime minutes than I care to discuss.

At the same time, I failed. Here’s the thing. I decided that I wanted the summer o’ men out of rebound-ness. Some chose to screw their way out of break-ups I chose to date, po-tey-to/po-tah-to, whichever you prefer! Dating buffet style allows you to sample without over indulging in one flavor, and as we know variety is the spice of life.

This summer I needed He Who Must Not Be Named so removed from my bloodstream that at his name antibodies attacked. It didn’t happen, my body, forever infected by this man! I haven’t built enough immunity to ward off thoughts of him, comparison of him or in general I want him back-ness and it makes me feel weak. And weak much like can’t should never exist in an adult woman’s vocabulary. But maybe its not weak maybe it’s human! How could it be that there exists one absolute feeling that with all my jujitsu defense mechanism I’m incapable of thrashing? Me, the emotion catcher can’t bottle this one man up and let him go to never be spoken/contemplated again. Really I detest the What If game I’ve begun to play.

I played the What If game a lot after Future Ex Husband. What if I never went to that last party? What if I never met Struggling Athlete? What if I was capable of compromise? What if I put my career goals aside? What if I overcame Faith? Those damn What If bandits hit below the belt, and those imps like it!

I’m positive the What Ifs keep me up at all hours of the night thinking about things that I cannot change. And I’m equally positive my thoughts of him are photographs of yesterday that I can’t have tomorrow because time moves forward not in reverse. I understand it, but I don’t have to like it. Not for nothing, the mind also plays a funny game with you, allowing you to fantabulize the past into something it wasn’t. I wasn’t 100% happy with The Spaniard. I wasn’t! Ask any of my friends. But the What Ifs play a role here too. What if 70% happy is enough, how can one be 100% happy? It’s impossible because perfection outside of chocolate doesn’t exist.

So that was a hella long stream of consciousness and randomness I will get into the deets of the week right about now!

As mentioned I’m having a serious problem with sleeping. For whatever reason, I cannot find comfort in my bed, whatever conclusions you can draw from that let me know. Tuesday I avoided plans with Jon B. In the land of ho-ness there are few opportunities. The night I semi passed out was his missed chance at freakiness. Considering his intentional and calculated move from potentially datable to only freakable leave him very few openings for Faith-time. He is feeling the burn as evidenced by his multiple text messages and phone calls dripping of teen spirit aka desperation. He is losing cool points and cuteness simultaneously…a bad look.

In between Jon B’s slide from grace I avoided calls from Zack Morris. He smells of I’m Just Not that Into You! True I like nerds but his ongoing conversations about Sonic Burger and Saved by the Bell make me wonder if he majored in Serial Killer for undergrad. I am no one’s Criminal Minds episode mmkay!

On Friday I had plans with Pretty Skin. It was nothing major just a movie date. It didn’t require actual outfit thoughts, which was good because work shattered most of my brain fabric by mid afternoon. I’m just saying reviewing functions in excel is not my forte.

I met PS at his house, yup still not ready for that know where I live thing. Unfortunately he lives in one of my least favorite neighborhoods in Philadelphia, North Filthy! My siddity came out heavy, initial thought: Is my car safe? I pocketed that thought and pulled up in front of his house with a smile that faded extra quick. Insert doorag stage left. I don’t do doorags worn as fashion…we are not 18 anymore. He eased my irkness by stating that he meant to remove it before he came outside but forgot, then flashed his 1000 watt. I melt for a man with a great smile of which Pretty Skin qualifies. He dressed way casual, but still cute. Did I mention that PS is of the handsome bred that chicks of all ages swoon for, what luck!

We went to see Inception at the Loews in Cherry Hill. That was the first time in a long time that I saw a theater packed. Typically I go to Warrington to see movies to avoid the riff raff from the city. In any event, great movie! We saw the 9:05 showing and midway through the movie the sleep monsters started attacking. The movie was so incredibly good that I fought them off but not without leaning my head on PS’s more than capable shoulders. He gave me both a hand and leg massage during the flick. It felt natural, unrushed and I didn’t move his hand, maybe I like this guy…hmm!

On the drive home we talked about past relationship baggage. This is never good date convo but I guess it had to be done. I told him about my commitment issues, maybe it was too soon! He told me about his ready to settle down stories and how he wants to enjoy all part of being in a committed relationship with one special woman. Cap up, possibly but it did sound good despite my fear of waking up next to the same man every day of the week. We parted ways with a single kiss, nice lips! No sparks though, I fear it has something to do with my earlier ramblings, you judge it.

Shortly after driving off of Pretty Skin’s block I receive a text message from Jon B. I believe these two men have some weird telepathy. Seriously every time I’m talking to one the other calls or sends a text message. And it wouldn’t be so bad if their names didn’t rhyme. I guess that’s the powers that be idea of irony or sarcasm.

Anywho, as expected he was feeling out my chilling inclination! Believe me it wasn’t there. I’d just locked lips with PS and honestly felt some type of way about potentially locking ~~fuglies~~ lips with someone else in little over an hour. Bottom line I wasn’t feeling it, point blank period. I proceeded to tell Jon B a half-truth, that I was too tired to make it out for any “fun.” And it was true in part, you read my randomness above but you didn’t know that I’d been up since 3:30AM staring at the patterns the moon makes on my ceiling, playing the What If game and not winning.

He texted a joke about cuddling that I found funny. Then he texted something semi vulgar that sparked my interest, I shain’t tell a lie but I just didn’t feel like entertaining it. And more importantly I don’t like folk taking the ho stroll unless I’m right there walking the plank with him. I ignored the last message, which sparked a phone call. His voice is like butter, oh my frigging God! After the initial pleasantries he asked when we were getting together again. Earlier in the week I’d learned that Saturday was a no go for him so I said Sunday might be open if he so chose. He told me something about work but possibly switching schedules. I responded that it wasn’t that deep and he should keep his schedule in tact, we ended on Tuesday.

On Saturday I spent the day with Granny SJ, Wander and Pudding Pop, a close cousin. We went to the Hibachi grill. Awesome! I’d never been but upon walking in it reminded me of the Benihana I went to in Toronto. I tasted fried ice cream for the first time, quite an experience. Next week we’re supposed to get together again and hopefully Granny Frannie will be able to go with us as well. It was cool having a three-generation brunch/lunch.

Later that evening I packed a bag and made my way to the Best Friend’s house for her impromptu sleepover. Half of the Doublemint Twins was there along with Nurse Fried. We played truth or dare Jenga for shots of our drinking buddies, Vodka and Rum followed by a rousing game of Scattergories. Between the shots and scattering of Jenga pieces we discussed our favorite topic, men! By night’s or better yet morning’s end there were no conclusions. Men are as easy as they are complicated, and that is my final answer.

The combo of Jenga and Vodka resulted in me falling asleep on the Best Friend’s couch in my clothes. Luckily I was of sound enough mind to wrap my hair in my headscarf. Faith would have been a very unhappy butterfly come morning if this didn’t happen considering I’d just gotten the do tossed on Friday before my date with PS.

By midday Sunday everyone had surfaced with stomachs rubbing their backs. We crowded into a booth at Michaels, ordered breakfast food, bussed each other’s chops and talked men for a couple of hours. This is typical behavior after late nights with the girls.

After brunch I sent a text message to Pretty Skin to see how his trip down south was going to which he responded it was going well. In between my text back to him to ask when he was coming home, a text message came in from Jon B. I told you these two are like conjoined twins or something. I finished my textversation with PS before responding to Jon.

As luck may have it or not Jon B was off early from work and had a few hours to kill. Hmm, oh how I love being someone’s afterthought. It makes me feel all warm and tingling inside. Anywho I explained to him that I was in North Wales and wouldn’t be back to the city for a little while but I’d give him a call if I made it back early. He didn’t get that call. Believe me when I made it back home not even an hour after texting him I thought about calling but bailed on the idea relatively quickly. His windows of opportunity are closing fast…we’ll see what happens Tuesday.

Weekend Update: Second Date with Pretty Skin, Randomness in Old City & Intentional #Hosh*t Avoided

2010-08-04T20:29:00.007-04:00

This is the inside of Cuba Libre

Tre-depressing, by Friday I had no concrete weekend plans and with the non-stop workweek I had more than enough tension to work out of my system. Nurse Friend says that everyone deserves two dates. In that same vein, I decided Pretty Skin and I should go bowling. Mom Nature, the wench that she is, vetoed all hope last Sunday with the tree falling curve ball but I set the wheels in place for Friday night. Surprise surprise I’m not always one hundred percent shallow. We did have a good first date, as first dates go, and well Pretty Skin is scrumptilicious despite his purple elephant.

We decided, or more accurately I decided that we’d meet up at North Bowl. I’m not ready to have Pretty Skin in my neck of the woods just yet. As men go he’s in probation. During this phase his position on the island can be revoked at the slightest hint of riding the short bus.

I remember cancelling a guy’s membership for a haircut gaffe. Shallow! In my defense the Nike swosh sideburns were the last straw after he licked my face. No exaggeration, he licked the right side of my face, intentionally. It was a very WTF moment. In hindsight even if he unintentionally licked my face I would have still revoked his privileges. I mean who licks people’s faces? Is that what the kool kids do on the streets, I’m just asking!

Anywho, I left work in enough time to make it home to transform into date suitable attire. After nagging the Little Sister about my shoe selection, I decided on a pair of 3 ½ inch platform stilettos considering Pretty Skin’s lack of height. I aimed to be shorter than him in heels, see I’m capable of compromise.

I arrived at North Bowl shortly after 9:30, to a text message from PS advising he would be about 10 minutes late. Since I was in a fantabulous mood after scoring great parking I didn’t let it irk me and made my way to the bar. It was packed! Luckily I was able to squeeze onto a stool in between two groups of gents at the bar. Neither group was my taste but I wasn’t going to stand for the next ten minutes waiting for PS.

An ashy-footed troll from the group of gents to my left struck up casual conversation. I made it a point to tell him I was in fact waiting for a date aka not interested. He misinterpreted my refusal to be rude as a sign that I was in fact interested. When I repeated my whole I’m waiting for a date he responded, “Where they do that at? Nobody dates anymore! I would have just asked you to come to my house and chill.” I said, “And that would explain why we’re not here together, no offense.” He laughed as if I were joking…I wasn’t. About two minutes later Pretty Skin saved me from tossing a drink. He even offered to say something to the troll but I told him it wasn’t that serious, men and their machismo!

As it turns out my bowling skills are hella rusty. PS wasn’t really all that good but he gave it his best. He did beat me the second game, barely! That almost win didn’t stop him from clowning me for the rest of the night. I can’t stand losing. And good thing for having to switch to bowling shoes because I was TALLER (note the extra emphasis) than him in my heels. This was even more obvious when we parted ways for the evening and he gave me a kiss on the forehead. Way sweet!

Methinks he likes me too much. At one point during the night PS asked if I thought we were compatible. WTH, don’t throw curve balls buddy! We’re not ready for those types of conversations I just wanna enjoy the summer without considering folks feelings. Feelings are for the winter.

On Saturday Nurse Friend and I decided we would hit up a party at Marathon Grill on 10th Street. We were determined to get out of the house earlier than our usual 11:30 starts. It actually happened. We were out the door by 10, booyah! As we drove down Walnut Street I swear I saw tumbleweed blew out the door of the Marathon Grill so we switched plans mid stride to Old City.

Since Mom Nature wasn’t riding the crimson wave, we were able to grab a table outside at Continental in perfect earshot of the fantabulousness of Cuba Libre. I ordered some yummy (technical term) margarita with flavored watermelon and something else I couldn’t quite make out. Nurse Friend ordered a cherry inspired margarita but didn’t like it. I ended up drinking both and ordering another watermelon and a bay breeze before the night was over. To say I was toasty is an understatement hence the intentional hosh*t.

Midway through the night I get a text from PS. He wanted to know why I hadn’t called him. Clearly I was unaware that my phone is the only one between the two of us that has outgoing call capabilities. Either way, I wasn’t about to have Pretty Skin monopolize and cockblock my weekend. One day was more than enough Faith time for him. Besides I wouldn’t have been able to wear the uck me pumps I wanted with his dwarfness. I ignored his last text message and kept on drinking.

I still got it! Judging by the dude who tripped over the chair and the two or three gents whose necks met with their girlfriend’s hands, I am still a hot commodity. I even pulled a number or two from some random passersby of none importance.

Around 11:40ish Jon B crept from underneath his weekend rock and asked what I was doing and if I wanted to get together. Insert intentional hosh*t here, Wander you should consider this the end of the blogpost for you mmkay! I let him know that I was boozing it up with my girls, he was welcome to join or I could meet him later after we left Old City but it would probably be after 2AM. His response, cool he could be my naughty little plaything…hmm curiosity way high. Me thinks that was the tequila talking…or not!

After some scandelicious texts back and forth and a slight nudge, I want you so bad right now, I decided it was in my best interest to give Jon a whirl. Insert intentional hosh*t stage left. I agreed to “chill” with him after Nurse Friend and I left Old City.

Between drinks, Nurse Friend wrangled a number of an interesting gentlemen who proceeded to cockblock the remainder of the evening. I wasn’t too upset though because remember I was on my way to be someone my momma didn’t raise. Two drinks later, at 2AM we trotted back to Nurse Friend’s car. It was a good night!

Nurse Friend pulled up to my apartment a little after 2:30AM. Instead of hoping right into my car I decided to go upstairs and change clothes. The next thing I remember was waking in my party clothes with mascara smeared on my pillowcase…so much for hosh*t!

Hindsight being 20/20, that was probably for the best, although I must admit Jon B peaks my carnal curiosity for a number of reasons…

Week in Review & Weekend Update: Random Conversations, E-mails from an Old Friend, and the Slow Demise of Jon B

2010-07-28T14:00:00.004-04:00

This is what it actually looked like on Sunday, I wasn't being completely vain!

This past week has been relatively quiet and kind of boring on the dating front. I’m not mad at it though I need a chance to catch my breath and think some things through. Seriously I will dig into the details in a second.

It was a hellacious workweek for me. As we turn the corner on the end of this project I am suddenly worried about what and where my next assignment will be. This is normal consultant angst. After spending a quarter of the year out of the country it’s been lovely being stateside, hell it’s been fantabulous sleeping in my own bed. Hotel rooms are overrated, believe me even the real swanky ones with the raindrop glass enclosed showers overlooking the bedroom. I enjoyed some nights with the Spaniard once or twice I won’t tell a t-waddy (lie)!

Remind me that I’m not allowed to mention his name on the blog anymore. I ‘d appreciate a virtual slap the next time it occurs, mmkay!

Sometime in the middle of the week Virtual Java (VJ – he’s a lawyer and a solder booyah) sends me an e-mail. He was shooting the hashish, you know catching up on all things Faithtastic with sprinkles of the ins and outs of his life. I’ve always wondered how he looks in a suit. Random I know! I have these moments. It would make more sense to you if you knew although I worked with VJ for quite some time I’ve never actually seen him in person. It’s funny how friendship works.

Anywho I’ve always wanted to see VJ in action, not the soldier action because that would be a scosh on the dangerous side and might involve ruining a pair of my uck me pumps. We know that’s not going down! Maybe one day we’ll get that cup of java in the flesh especially since he can’t offer me any near the grave rich men to front my shoe habit. Shame on him! Even without the sugar daddy, it was nice to hear from Virtual Java. I smiled midday. That never happens!

In the land of gentleman callers, Pretty Skin blew up my phone all damn week. Clearly his lack of a job provides a little too much free time. In general I’m not a phone person. This is a byproduct of half my workday spent gabbing. Most of the conversations drain my chitchat for the uck of it-ness! I must give him the gold star for effort though. He makes sure to send little how you doing text messages throughout the day, you know just checking to see if I still have a pulse. PS would probably make a decent boyfriend minus his purple elephant if that’s what I was looking for, but it is the summer o’ men. Even with the small dry spell this week I mustn’t lose focus.

After playing phone tag, mostly me avoiding PS’ calls, I agreed to have date two, bowling on Sunday afternoon. As luck may have it Mother Nature, disrespectful tramp, blessed us with a storm by mid afternoon requiring a schedule adjustment to the coming weekend. He seemed genuinely disappointed but with whipping rain, falling trees and torrential winds I wasn’t risking my hair to the element. Before you ask, yes it’s like that! Me, Thunderstorm and that biotch Humidty aren’t on speaking terms.

Between my calls with PS I took one or two from Italian Stallion whose name is forever changed to Zack Morris (gold star and a cartwheel for you if you know what late 80’s- early 90’s tv show that comes from), a more appropriate fit. He’s nice in a date a dork kind of way, which isn’t inherently bad for me because I like nerds…insofar as they don’t look like nerds. Pocket protectors and suspenders are against my religion.

My issue, be prepared I’m about to say something racial. I don’t date white guys who’ve never dated black girls. I’m no one’s test run! Popping cherries t’aint my forte and I really don’t wanna have to explain my headscarf. A date might clear this air but so far I’ve skated around the notion of us sitting in front of a whole meal of food. I fear this dance won’t last long and right now he’s more out than in.

Jon B was incognegro for majority of the week. He sent a few feeler text messages and we had a couple two-minute phone calls, nothing like our hours long convos from weeks past. This wasn’t all his doing. His purple elephant wears bright neon tights and a yellow hat to match. The sideways ex chatter is a little much for me. I mean I looked at an old picture of he who must not be named this past week but I quickly regrouped and put on the strong face. Jon B needs to man up. If he wants his ex back, me tinks he does, call that trick and make it happen, otherwise toss up the deuces!

On Sunday JB called a little before 10PM asking if we could grab a drink. Hmm…based on the lack of enthusiasm in my voice I’m going with a strong no. And he so violated the don’t call me while True Blood is on rule. Hun-nay please! Noteworthy he shows up consistently every Sunday, I wonder what that’s about? He did say he really wants to see me…that sounds like one-eyed sailor speak to me. You judge it.

Weekend Update: First Date with Pretty Skin, Condo Scoping and Jon B’s Red Flags Coming to Roost

2010-07-23T14:20:00.005-04:00

Picture of the actual place in East Falls

By end of business on Friday I was more than ready to call it quits. After working with Texas on a few of my more recent assignments I ended up shackled to him again for a portion of the work on my current project. Clearly the work gods are not friends with me on Facebook. If they handed out degrees for jumping on my last nerve Texas would graduate summa cum laude! And that might actually be an understatement.

Earlier in the day the Realtor sent me the list of three properties we’d scope out after I was finished working. It was a toss up whether I was going to walk or catch a cab. I’ve decided that close proximity to my office and downtown Philadelphia is one of my more important must haves for my new place in addition to ample closet space. When I stepped outside Humidity damn near stole my will to live, cab it was. In better weather the trek to Northern Liberties or in this case slightly below Northern Liberties on the outskirts of not the greatest neighborhood wouldn’t be half bad and good exercise. But in the butt blazing heat I just wasn’t making it happen. In any event we looked at the three places, none keepers and parted ways in front of my office. The Realtor was nice enough to drop me off, must be the commission!

By the time I made it home from condo searching it was 7:15. I’d agreed to have Pretty Skin pick me up around 8ish but that would be cutting it too close. Besides the fact that I wasn’t too keen on the idea of him knowing where I live. Shoot I didn’t really know why he was in the in bing, this is slang for jail carry on. I made a quick call and told PS since it was getting later than anticipated I would meet him wherever he decided we were having dinner.

We met at Johnny Manana’s on Ridge Avenue in East Falls. Even though I live a hop, skip and a jump away from there I’d never been. And he gets a gold star because I heart American Mexican food. Yes that’s ridonkulous I know but authentic Mexican food is prepared with corn meal, which I don’t particularly care for but American Mexican is made with flour and I likes me some flour. Digressing a bit I know right!

Anywho, the date was alright, to scale it, probably a 6.5. The conversation with PS was easy but I needed to get the 411 on this whole jailhouse experience. For a minute I thought he was trying to avoid the pink elephant but he says, could be a cap up one never knows, he doesn’t like to talk about his past self because that’s not who he is anymore. I can dig it; especially since his past self distributed street pharmaceuticals. He said he deserved his five-year punishment and he would never do anything to find himself in that situation again.

What the deuces do you know how much has changed in the past five years – shoot that’s a lifetime in cell phone technology?

He seemed genuine but uh I’ve seen half an episode of Oz and I can’t get down with the get down if you know what I’m saying! Oh and then the other two bombshells of the night, he has a 9 year old daughter from a jump off…not even a relationship and that architectural firm, he was the equivalent of Mailroom Boy’s supervisor, it figures! But the icing on the cake, no job right now but I guess this is to be expected. He is a barber, unlicensed, so that’s his current hustle until he gets a legitimate tax-paying job. At least he’s actively searching, that’s a lot more than I can say for some folks I know who will remain nameless…Little Brother!

After all those details my head was spinning and I asked if we could end the night a bit early. PS seemed slightly disappointed but whatevs, in actuality I was all types of tired and I had some serious thinking to do. Besides siddity Faith started rearing her ugly mug and I didn’t want to go there with this gent just yet. Despite his checkered past, which he was very honest about, we had a relatively decent mini date. He was easy to talk to, could hold a decent conversation and he laughed at my oddball jokes. I’m a nerd at heart folks!

When I got home I de-clothed, sent a text message to PS letting him know I got home safe and thanked him for dinner, washed the slight make-up off my face and said, DAMN! No literally that’s what happened. Nothing a good night’s sleep and a small prayer wouldn’t help, right! I woke the next morning and said, I’m going to see how things play out, cautiously with Pretty Skin. I mean he didn’t directly kill anyone right?

Saturday plans grab a quasi-expensive gift for Male Nurse Friend (MNF) and make it to his birthday BBQ. By mid day this plan was all but a memory. I had no motivation. For whatever reason, maybe the hellish workweek or the exhaustion that sprouts from maintaining too many gentleman callers was catching up with me. Believe it or not I’m not as young as I used to be!

In any event I opted for a card and a gift certificate to Dave N Busters for MNF. When I drove to his apartment there was no parking, after looping three times I called it quits and drove back home. I know that probably was wrong (it ain’t like his non showing butt hasn’t stood me up on a number of occasions) but I really wasn’t in the mood for the queens he invited anyway.

Earlier that day I’d texted Jon B to see if we were still on for True Blood. By 11PM I had no response so I figured that was the end. Damn I really read that man’s intentions wrong. My dating wheels need some oil I guess.

On Sunday I rose early and cleaned the apartment. Since I’m not traveling I’m back to my normal weekend scrub the home routine, me likes. I sparked up a random conversation with Italian Stallion around 3ish and in the middle Jon B called, now what woodwork did he crawl out of? I ended up calling him back around 6:30, you know just to see what excuse he’d give for doing a no call no show.

Apparently his ex called to let him know he can no longer be involved in her daughter’s life. He was devastated and needed some time to himself to decompress. Hmmm…pretty janky on her part and all types of effed up for her daughter considering Jon B is the only father the girl’s ever known. He seemed to be taking it quite hard. I thought I heard him choking back some tears. I offered him some words, I mean what else was there to do and told him to get back to me when he felt he was up for company. I don’t feel like I need to make any effort here. Red flags are busting out of the seams on this one!

Week in Review: Returning from Vacation, Meeting the Realtor and Chats with Boys

2010-07-20T17:38:00.004-04:00

After returning from vacation I settled back into my life of working until 8 at night. Old habits die hard people. But before you go all ape shit on me I was able to squeeze in some me time. And by me time I mean I was a regular chatty Cathy with a bunch of the gents from the summer line up.

Jon B and I were communicating quite well. We chatted every night before I went to bed making his the last voice I heard before shuteye. As the boys go he was making quite the impression. Every night was a new discovery of things we have in common, writing, music, politics etc etc etc. The cautious Faith inside says this man is too good to be true. I must keep his red flags front and center and of course remember he is one amongst in the summer o men.

By midweek it was clear a third date/get together was oh so necessary with Jon B. We agreed since he’d missed all but the season premiere of True Blood he’d come over Sunday early afternoon to get caught up on the older episodes and stay for the new one. I was schoolgirl giddy which is a sharp contrast to my cool as the other side of the pillow demeanor.

The Best and Nurse Friend said that with him coming over I’d most definitely lose our summer bet. The summer bet, Wander earmuffs, that for every week we go without having sex we have to add five dollars to the pot. At the end of the summer, if we all make it we’ll collectively use the money toward some group fun. If there’s only one frustrated chica left standing, she wins the pot. Oh yeah Wander you can de-earmuff now!

Unfortunately after setting up our date all communication ended between Jon B and I. No responses to my two feeler text messages. True I’m knocking the rust off my dating skills but I didn’t think I was that far removed. I thought I was reading his signs very well I mean how else should one take goodnight beautiful I will talk to you tomorrow. Clearly these days that’s code for I’m just not that into you! Such as life!

My initial reach out to Pretty Skin was via text. He was surprised to hear from me. That night at Copa I didn’t give him my number. Instead I elected to take his and ponder some more if I can stomach the whole I’ve been home from jail for 6 months. Hmm….if this ain’t a red flag I don’t know what is. I’m uncomfortable with the idea of dating or co-mingling with ex-felons. Of course before we judge a man by his past actions we must first know what those past actions entail. I mean the man did say, before getting caught in his double life, that he worked at an architectural firm in the city. He has the potential to jump right back on his feet, right? I decided to schedule an official first date with him Friday you know just to get a little more of his felony story.

My Friday was looking quite packed. Before agreeing to the date with Pretty Skin I’d set up to some time with the realtor to look at some properties in the city. This is my final step into adulthood. I figure it’s time to own something or let me rephrase pretend to own something while the banks sucks the life energy from my paycheck. I assume after I sign all that paperwork the last ounce of anything kid will ooze out of my body. I’m just assuming. The condos were nice but not what I’m looking for. The Realtor got a kick out my many jokes about boys and deduced that my square footage restriction will be 1200sq feet of mostly closet space. I need somewhere to house all these shoes and clothes and what not.

Anywho I bailed on my Tuesday date with Argyle Freak. He just wasn’t my cup of tea so I sent him off the island never to be heard of again. A-freaking-mazing body and all didn’t wool my eyes from his true intentions. Curiosity has in the past made me do some not mama proud things but I’m not 19 hell I’m not even 24 anymore so I can’t blame poor life decisions on being young and dumb. I’m sure someone else will fall victim to Argyle’s abs of steel.

I had random not sure if they are going anywhere conversations with Mr. Late Nite, Jamerican, Italian Stallion and Trini Man. Yeah I know I sprung some names on y’all but they are in the background dudes that I’m not sure will make it to prime time.

Weekend Update: Second Dates and Nights with the Girls Part III

2010-07-17T14:31:00.003-04:00

We called it a night around 2ish. I ignored the bouncer’s attempts to woo and walked back to the car unscathed by his advances with my girls. We’d decided to crash at The Best Friend’s house, alls yeah an impromptu sleepover.

Clearly we, me and The Best Friend that is, were not up for the challenge of the sleepover because as soon as I had hair in scarf my eyes closed. I was down for the count. And I do mean the count since I didn’t wake up until well after 12 in the afternoon. Now that’s not something I typically do, y’all know my battle with that biotch, Insomnia.

Anywho, Nurse Friend met the Best Friend and I at our favorite diner in North Wales. Since we’d canceled our trip to Ocean City due to inclement weather we needed to replace that with some equally fun thing for Saturday night. Ended on gambling in Chester. Not exactly the best replacement but we were working with limited options. And I really wasn’t in the market for hanging out in the city again. Don’t get me wrong there’s nothing wrong with the city, I mean I hearts the city in a major way but I’d played the city ticket all week and wanted to spice it up a bit.

Harrahs in Chester was just going to have to do. We parted ways for a few hours, so I could catch up on some e-mail from work and Nurse Friend needed to meet her family for her mom’s birthday celebration. By 9ish Nurse Friend was on her way to scoop me up so we could meet the Best Friend. My bestie was on point for driving since I’d played designated the night before.

Needless to say I didn’t win any money. Well let me not tell a lie. I won about $120 dollars but I ended up giving it all back to the casino. Nurse Friend did tell me to cash out once I was up but I just didn’t listen...hindsight is 20/20. Not counting the $120 that I gave back I only really lost about thirty bucks of my hard earned cash so I’m not gonna complain. Did you know they still have penny machines? It was a bunch of blue haired ladies with ciggies (cigarettes) and drinks pulling slots anxiously watching pennies (yes I said pennies) fluctuate.

Some troll at the bar kept making impromptu eye contact and I wasn’t feeling any of that. No cuties that night, but considering the growing roster that might not be a bad thing. My thought, summer o’ men should include a man for every day of the week. Is that being greedy?

Casino security harassed us for taking pictures, ugh what janky rules. I was actually told I needed to delete any photos, me thinks not! Oh did I forget to mention the drink The Best Friend spilled on me, and she wasn’t even drunk.

During our stint in the casino I could have sworn I saw Jon B saunter by with a less than attractive chic-let, competition. I like competition. Part of me wanted to swing by him so he’d see my hotness in comparison to the dud he had on his arm…jealousy maybe. Of course it might not have been him, or was it!

Once we’d gambled away our hard earned thirty bucks apiece we made our way to the car. I switched into some flip-flops for the ride home but not before we got our Ciara on in the parking lot dancing for no one but ourselves and laughing all the way. This is what I love about my friends always up for acting 12!

Overall the weekend was great! I hadn’t decided if I was ready to deal with Pretty Skin’s issue, if I would see Argyle Freak on Tuesday or when I’d catch up with Jon B. Of course there was Mr. Late Night in the background. Clearly this is going to be a productive summer!

Side note I had a very very interesting Sunday night text, cell phone and webcam conversation with Jon B. Spank him kindly for the oh so tasty pictures. Maybe he won’t stay in the friendzone. Only time will tell!

Weekend Update: Second Dates and Nights with the Girls Part II

2010-07-14T18:30:00.007-04:00

I was feeling slightly tipsy when I left the bar, way irresponsible I know. Since I hate waking up with alcohol on the tummy I decided to stop at the Wawa on Germantown Avenue in Mt. Airy to grab something quick to coat my stomach. Believe me the Wawa is a regular meat market after last call, not my intentions for going but eye candy is nice at any time of day or night.

There were a couple of cuties I saw giving me the eye when I was ordering my food but I didn’t pay it any mind. I quickly grabbed my slip from the counter and went to pay for my items. Mr. Late Nite was in front of me in the line. He turned around, nice shoulders, and said, “Damn you smell good. What is that you have on?” Never one to disappoint a fan I responded that I was wearing Chanel Chance. He said something like he was going to add it to his personal memory because it smelled amazing! Spank him kindly.

When I went to the counter to retrieve my sandwich Mr. Late Nite was still standing there. He started asking the usual questions one ask when he wants to secure another’s phone number. I began tabulating in my mind whether he could be added to the roster of summer potentials. My decision, yes for those shoulders alone he could gain admittance on the island.

Mr. Late Nite walked me to my car so we could exchange numbers. For whatever reason I’d left my cell in the car. Once at the car, I could see Jon B was calling. Probably checking to make sure I’d made it home, so sweet. Anywho I picked up the phone because I didn’t want Jon B to think I’d careened off the side of the road. Mr. Late Nite was quiet while I chit chatted and asked Jon if I could give him a buzz once I was settled and in the house.

After I hung up, Mr. Late Nite asked who I was talking to, to which I responded, some dude. I’m not into lies people and I don’t owe either one of these gents anything. Mr. Late Nite said he liked how smooth I handled the situation and respected me for not lying. Why lie? Either way we exchanged numbers and I made my way home. By the time I got settled it was around 2:30ish. I called Jon B back, promises must be kept, and we talked until about 4. By that time my eyelids were heavy and I had to get some sleep to prepare for ladies weekend.

Friday was packed with an ish load of errands. I woke up and cleaned the kitchen and bathroom while I waited for The Little Brother to come home with my car. I finished reorganizing my room, you know de-Spaniardizing. Once The Little Brother was home I made my way to the hair salon to get my do tossed. Side note my hair is on a growth spurt and I like it. I was slightly annoyed that my stylist was overbooked and I ended up waiting for several hours, the usual but for whatever reason I was irked.

After leaving the shop I headed down to the Urban Outfitters on 36th and Chestnut to see if I could pick up something cute for the night. Originally the Best and Nurse friend decided on Cuba Libre in Olde City but to be honest I wasn’t feeling salsa all night long, papichulos yes salsa no! In any event I was able to convince the girls that a nice low-key night out was far better. We agreed to go to Copacabana on 40th & Spruce. Side not I didn’t even wear the outfit I picked up out that night instead I opted for an oldie but goodie from my closet.

At first Copa was looking dead. I almost regretted my not so subtle suggestion of forgoing Cuba Libre. Once we got to the door we realized it was in deed in rare form inside, great! The doorman was giving me the eye but I wasn’t returning the favor. Sorry friend just not my type but he was nice and he carded us so my still looking under 21 card is still in effect, fantabulous!

The music was knocking; this is slang for good, carry on. The DJ spun a good mix of oldies and new school hip-hop and r&b. The vibe in Copa was nice. I ordered my signature and my friends ordered there’s. We were partying with our best friends, Vodka and Rum. Sometimes that’s all you need. Mid way through the evening Pretty Skin (PS) asked if he could join our trio.

My initial reaction was to blow him off because this was in fact girls night out but I had to remind myself, quickly, that it is also the summer of men. I didn’t want to be a cock blocker. Not to mention the man is easy on the eyes. He’s not what I would call a charmer but he did make me laugh a bit especially when Nurse Friend refused to shake his hand. He asked her if she was protecting herself from H1N1. Y’all know I have issues with shaking as well however I was fully prepared to anti-bacterial my hands once he left.

For whatever reason Nurse Friend was being a bit of a ball buster, not typically her lane. We reserve the busting of balls especially for The Best Friend. But I guess everyone has her night. At some point during the conversation that ice wall Nurse Friend was building came tumbling down. Could it have been the Vodka, one never knows. She was most definitely feeling a little nice because when PS asked her the best part of her former relationship she said the SEX. I almost spit out my drink for laughing so hard. No shocker to me being her friend and all but I was real horriprised sort of like seeing your grandparents knocking knees that she even said something like that to him.

Eventually PS asked if he could get my number. Before he revealed his little secret I was all ready to pony up, if he was in fact interested in me. There were three of us at the table all equally attractive; I can’t be that vain chick to think every guy wants me. In my mind they do but that is beside the point.

Anywho the man’s skin was glowing. I mean his skin was so smooth and so medium chocolate-esque I considered touching his face but I thought it might be rude. The Best Friend just came out and said something like you know your skin is gorgeous. She ain’t never told a lie! In any event I took his number to mull over if I can deal with his issue before he left us to return to his friend.

My highpoint of the night was when Nurse Friend stormed back to the table from the bathroom. As it turns out some sloppy whores where screwing some dude in the ladies room. Side note they could have been doing lines but me doubts it from the way they walked out, no eye contact after The Best Friend knocked on the door po-po style. Pretty Skin offered to watch the door while Nurse Friend used the men’s room. Now wasn’t that nice of him, trying to earn brownie points!

Weekend Update: Second Dates and Nights with the Girls Part I

2010-07-12T22:56:00.009-04:00

This will be the summer of men no doubt. If you speak these things into the universe sometimes the universe will give you what you want in return. Someone up there is smiling down on me….and I likes it!

So I had a double booking on Thursday night. An early test the waters with Argyle Freak and a late night chit chat with Jon B. I was looking forward to both for different reasons. To get up to speed read the prior post.

As luck or fate may have it, Argyle was way late getting back to me about what time we should meet up so I cancelled our plans in my mind. By 9PM it was entirely too late to squeeze him in before Jon B. Jon B and I were tentatively scheduled to meet for drinks at 11PM. Around 9:40ish Argyle sent a text message about just joining him at his house…hmm late night with Shemar Moore look-a-like probably not the best first date experience. Wander didn’t raise no hussies round these parts.

Immediately texted Argyle back and let him know I made other plans because he’d gotten back to me too late in the day. Clearly he was on his period because he threw a small tantrum. Men with women’s mood swings aren’t attractive however did I tell you how a-freaking-mazing Argyle’s body is…concessions can be made. After his b*tch-fit subsided we agreed to meet up Tuesday. Side note I am strongly considering kicking this one off the island though. I mean there is but so much concession in me and well, this is the summer of men. He is one amongst.

Jon B got stuck at work later than anticipated, I truly dislike waiting for people, and we didn’t end up meeting until 12:30. Did I forget to mention that Benson (my cat) destroyed the orange sweater I was going to wear? Part of me wanted to kick the cat but I decided against it.

Anywho we met at the Tavern on the Hill in Chestnut Hill. I ordered my usual, vodka and cranberry with a splash of pineapple. It is my signature drink. Jon B ordered Absolut on the rocks no chaser, a man’s drink. Granted I hadn’t had much food, when it’s hot outside I tend to eat less food it makes me hot or something, but my damn was that drink strong. After a few sips I was feeling a little too nice. I decided to nurse it for the rest of the evening as to not sound borderline retarded while holding conversation with the man.

We conversed about a number of things in particular legalizing drugs, great date convo I know. We debated the pros and cons and came to a general consensus that if alcohol is legal, also a drug, then why not open the lid on controlled substances. One of the early benefits of legalizing drugs would be a swift decline in the crime rates, mainly because trafficking won’t be considered a punishable offense. Two, there is already a market of highly intelligent salesmen and women to continue distribution. Three, and this is the one that should have wayward politicians skeeting in their seats, we could solve a lot of the social ills with the taxes collected from the sale and distribution of said controlled substances. I’m just saying, please don’t hate me for my politics. Consider this, you can never solve a supply and demand problem by attacking the supply.

Slightly before 2ish the barkeep yelled for last call. I was still nursing that extra strong drink and Jon B was yawning something vicious, not because of me but he’d worked a 13hr shift. We parted ways with a hug and his casual we should do this again soon. Hmm I’m feeling friendzone at this point, what do y’all think?

Argyle Freak

2010-07-08T18:41:00.003-04:00

As I mentioned this summer is going to be the summer of men. OK maybe I didn’t mention the summer of men; maybe I told Nurse and Model Friend about the summer of men, whatevs consider this the formal notice!

In an effort to maximize my seven-day vacation I packed a ton of fun things into the week. As a result I’m now double booked! Double bookings are not uncommon in the world o’ singles. Considering I’m slightly rusty dare I say out of practice navigating out of the double booking is becoming quite tricky. Feelings could get hurt, not to mention ruin my free dinner invites in the recent future.

My dilemma is simple. I like Jon B. We’ve chatted it up all week since date numero uno. He’s…mature. Now I know that’s not typically something that people swoon over but I genuinely enjoy hearing his perspective on things. He’s really mellow and I like that. Oh did I mention the butter smooth voice, booyah! He wants to do late night din din with drinks tonight after he gets out of work….I wanna go blog friends.

On the flip side of the house is Argyle Freak. Now I wasn’t too sure about this one early on. Officially we haven’t had our first date due to some scheduling conflicts but he’s sezy. Now when I say sezy I mean if Halle Berry and Shemar Moore had a love child he would be it. His body, A-freaking-mazing! He looks great in round the way boy clothes and a suit, hence the Argyle part of his moniker. He definitely gets the blood pressure elevated but me-thinks he’s in it for the a$$. Not my style friend so I’m leery, but can’t deny very very curious.

Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought her back right!

WWOFD aka What Would Old Faith Do, in my dating past I would schedule an early day date with Argyle Freak and late night dining with Jon B. My first reason for this, I trust myself more during the daytime in public places. Second, if Argyle Freak lives up to his name and I have to deliver a quick shot to his Johnny Rockets I’d want to end the night in buttery voice bliss with Jon B. This seems 100% practical to me.

Jon B

2010-07-06T14:21:00.008-04:00

So I’m jumping back into the dating game feet first. Feet rather than head because head implies over thinking things and I’ve already been there and done that.

The first summer prospect is Jon B. Jon B is all types of scrumptilicious for a number of reasons but the first is because when I see him I think of Jon B. Yes I had a thing for Jon B’s buttery voice back in the day. Maybe it was the way he sang those ballads all Babyface-like that made me melt. Maybe it was a his undeniable good looks, whatever it was I was way into Jon B back in the day. Not that my Jon B is the Jon B, although he used to be a hip-hop group some time ago.

Second Jon B also has the best phone voice this side of the Philly! When he called to let me know he’d be 15 minutes late for our Starbucks meet and greet I nearly crashed Juan The 2nd. Prior to this our convo had been completely e-mail, Yahoo messager, text chat Yuppers it’s a sezy phone voice…could come in handy on those travel away from home trips.

We had our official first date at the Starbucks in Chestnut Hill. As first dates go, on a scale from 1-10 I’d rate it a 6.5, outside of the Ex Future Husband I’ve never had a 10 first date. There was something all types of special about that boy. The convo flowed, Jon B didn’t seem in any way socially awkward and he’s a smart ass, which is right up my alley. I can see myself chillaxing with him again in the near future.

Since life rarely hands you a dozen roses without thorns there were a couple Debbie Downers. Now they weren’t earth shattering but time will tell if I can deal. The man, 34, lives with his father. Hmmm, I listened to the “reasons” and found them totally logical however it doesn’t change the fact that Jon B lives with his daddy and he’s a grown a$$ man.

Who am I to complain, The Little Brother cohabitates so this might be the pot calling the kettle.

I’m sensing the possibility of male patterned baldness. He was wearing a cute Kangol, not the grand pappy one but the fitted kind that all the hip-hop heads wear, side note it was way cute. Y’all know I loves me some hair to run my fingers through. I’ve never dated a bald guy before my system might go into shock. Yes this is way superficial but come on now I’m a work in progress OK.

Jon B is still paying some bills for his ex. Red flag, I think yes! As he tells it, he is the only father figure his ex’s daughter has and he doesn’t want her to go without even though he is not with her mother. Awl that sounds all helping elderly people across the street sheltering stray kittens-esque but in the my mind it also signifies deep unresolved emotional ties to his ex, whether Jon B’s willing to admit it or not.

At the end of the day I’m not looking for a relationship so these few items aren’t gonna stop me from going out with him again. Oh did I mention we dig on the same type of music. He’s way into olde skool hip hop and r&b. This is right up my alley. I sense a live music partner in the making. Of course it doesn’t hurt that he’s sort of a Baldwin (ha ha I was watching Clueless the other day and will be bringing this back to my linguisticals for hot guy).

Weekend Update: Romps of the Newly Single

2010-06-21T07:17:00.001-04:00

It’s odd because I’ve always touted my love of the single life. Don’t get me wrong I’m not saying that single life is bad but it’s definitely for the birds. Dare I say I enjoyed the laziness of being in a relationship….not so much the work that it took but definitely enjoyed the benefits.

Oh God, who am I turning into these days?

Jumping back into the single’s game is not as easy as I would have hoped. Damn, I settled into that whole relationship thing too quickly. Oh side note: Did I mention that I gave it the ole college try for the second time around with The Spaniard. I won’t subject you to the boring deets (stole that from Lotusb), just know it ended in a fall out similar to this.

Did I mention my single and ready to mingle skills are a bit rusty. I’m sure they will come running back shortly bike riding skills style. One never forgets how to ride a bike she’s simply out of practice. Granted I was out this past weekend and didn’t feel the least bit fierce…although my shoes were screaming fierceness from the bottom of their souls!

Yes, shoes have soles and souls in my book!

It was good to be out and about, that I will admit. I enjoyed people watching especially when this sloppy hooker almost broke her ankle trying to cross the cobblestone in Olde City. Side note I must have missed the romper memo because I’m not all over this fashion trend. Needless to say Nurse Friend is way up to speed. Although some of the one-piece cat suit-esque numbers I saw on passersby left little to the imagination and kept me wondering if people have mirrors and where the ef are their friends.

In situations when outfits go ape shit, I don’t totally blame the wearer. Remember peeps everyone has that moment where you throw something on and you’re deluded by sheer ignorance or that imagine in your mind that you look like Dorothy Dandridge. Whatever the case may be you’re not in the right mind to make sound dressing decisions. This is when friends should step in and say, “Faith what the ef are you smoking? Take that hashish off before I smack the taste out of your mouth!” If that doesn’t happen your friends are scandalous whores who delight in other’s misfortune.

Anywho back to my single-ness, this summer should be fun. I anticipate a lot of late nights with the chicas and some date nights with some boys. Don’t worry I won’t rush to get boo-ed up too quickly even though the delights of couple-dome gave me a new perspective on relationships. The bennies (aka benefits) are amazing, like sleeping in my headscarf because the boy already knows my sezy! That hashish isn’t going down with new boys off the bat. Men have to be broken into the headscarvf cause ba-bey that thang ain’t the least bit cute.
The next few months should be interesting!!!

The Recurring Quarter Life Crisis: Same Ole Just a Different Day

2010-06-13T23:13:00.001-04:00

Of late I’ve been so consumed with “life” that I haven’t even had the energy to write. It’s depressing. And when I say write I even mean writing in my journal. Blogging well as you can see from the infrequent but guess who’s back posts I clearly haven’t been doing that either. To some degree I think I may have lost my voice…but I want it back, desperately!

Wander told me that I need to do what I want. On it’s face it sounds easy if I could just figure out what the hell I want. Because being a consultant is clearly not it, of that I am sure, I’m leaning toward money as the real reason that I haven’t just picked up and left the bullsh*t behind.

Honestly it’s a combination of money and fear. If you hadn’t guessed my taking risk level on a scale of 1-10 hovers at a comfy cozy 4-5 unless you’re talking about roller coasters or wicked new cuisine minus sushi. I’m sorry but raw fish just taint my cup of green tea. And since life, although very roller coaster-esque has far graver consequences I tend not to throw caution to the wind. I prefer calculated risks…that would be the insurance professional within.

Not to mention the whole financial aspect of taking a happy leap, oh my lifestyle just doesn’t lend itself to not being able to swipe a card and pick up something snazzy. Of course it wasn’t always like that so I presume I could do without one more dress in my closet or pair of shoes on my floor. But I don’t want to.

See there’s that word again want. Maybe I’ve become too dependent on things to make me happy rather than just being happy. If I could do away with some things in my life and get back to basics it might be better.

How hard is starting over? To be honest, it sounds daunting! The whole idea of waking up and not knowing how it will play out is terrifying. Even if I know it’s going to be a shitty day at least I know the shitty-ness is coming vs not knowing what’s hidden around the corner. Clearly I’m not the woman for surprises that don’t involve spa gift certificates.

It’s Been Awhile…Sorry I Have No Other Way to Explain It Part II – Crazy Balls

2010-03-22T11:34:00.006-04:00

So it seems no one wants to hear the romanticals of all things Faith for the past 8 weeks, sheesh I’m crying a bit on the inside. I kid I kid! It would seem, not surprising really, that Crazy Balls has taken the stage. And since I write this blog for both myself and the lovelies that stop by and leave me comments from time to time I feel obligated to give you more details, not that there’s much else there.

Without further digression,

After getting through the 8 trillion security check lines in the airport in Sao Paulo, Fellow Traveler and I patiently waited to board the plane home. The dreaded Brazilian work excursion was over and we were finally going back to civilization as we know it. No more black bean Wednesdays or feijãda as the locals so nicely named it. Yes you didn’t read that wrong on Wednesday for lunch every place serves black beans…they come with a variety of meat options (mostly pork including snout – the locals said it’s something about paying homage to the slaves…hmmm I could think of a better way to show respect but I am going off on a tangent).

I won’t lie though I really miss suco de abacaxi, fresh pineapple juice, it’s literally the best thing since sliced bread!

Anywho we’re in the airport waiting for yet another airplane when I notice this older gentleman, I’d peg him in the 60-65 ballpark but I could be wrong, standing slightly in front of us. I noticed him because he was wearing the tightest cargo pants I’d ever seen on a straight man and he had an obnoxious orange tan which lent it’s services to the 14 strands of hair on his head. They (the hair strands) were congregating on the top of his head in sort of a comb over motion not doing a great job of hiding his ginormous bald spot. Side note if you’re going bald men just do the Mr. Clean it looks way better than rocking the Terry Bradshaw or Sherman Hemsley cul-da-sac. I’m just saying.

Of course I’m fantabulously hair vain so I’d probably hang on to anything I had left as well.

Digressing…Fellow Traveler and I chuckle a bit before we’re split and board the plane to our separate seats. Once inside the jet I begin getting settled for the long ride home. About three or four minutes into the boarding process two ladies stop in front of me and begin speaking broken Portuglish (Portuguese & English), you know the none tan must have made them think I was Brazilian. After convincing them that I was in fact American and spoke English they asked if I could switch seats so they could sit together. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have given up my seat but they were sisters and I would have preferred to sit next to my sister instead of some random passenger.

Little did I know that taking the seat up just a few rows would put me right beside, you guessed it, Crazy Cargo Hair. See Crazy Cargo Hair was his initial name before the overnight peep show.

As I mentioned before Fellow Traveler and I had to fly through Toronto on the way back to Philadelphia. After experiencing the prison fare they offered on the ride over to Brazil I decided the best use of my 10 hour flight would be to get some much needed sleep, if possible. It had been our experience that the air over the Amazon was pretty choppy but I was fully prepared to Xanax, courtesy of Fellow Traveler’s mom-bot, myself to sleep at the first sign of turbulence.

Even before the flight attendants did their in flight emergency dance I was fast asleep. Sometime during the night, as all flights to USA from Brazil depart between 10PM-12AM, Crazy Cargo Hair stripped from the waist down. I’d like to think he stripped in the wee hours of the morning when the flight crew had dozed off in their little cubby holes but there is no way to know for sure because I was fast asleep. Not to mention its pitch black on those overnight flights so he could have been going to town on himself and I would have been none the wiser.

In any event I woke to the annoying early morning announcements from the flight crew you know the drill, turn off all electrical devices, last chance to hit the john yada yada yada. Just as I opened my eyes I was accosted by shriveled old man testes. I’m not sure about you but this sure ain’t the best part of waking up! Not to mention he was doing the whole don’t mind me I’m just adjusting my junk thing that guys do in an attempt to put his doodads back into those tight arse cargo pants. Now I can’t say for sure what type of undies Crazy Balls, note the name change, was wearing because I wasn’t positive I was in fact seeing what I was seeing.

After blinking about seven or eight times I was sure I was in fact seeing the old man peep show…and I didn’t even ask for it! I began asking myself all these questions…when did he let them loose, did he free ball the whole flight home, why didn’t he go into the bathroom and put himself back in his pants, did his testes kinda have a tan, did I really just see 65yr old balls? You know the normal morning questions!

The show only lasted about a minute or two as Crazy Balls is clearly skilled in the art of putting peas in a pod. For a split second I thought to complain but since we were getting off the plane shortly I didn’t see the benefit.

Side note whenever you say Crazy Balls you have to put up the jazz hands, like a Broadway musical…I can’t tell you why but it just seems appropriate.

It’s Been Awhile…Sorry I Have No Other Way to Explain It Part I

2010-03-10T12:02:00.004-05:00

So I’m not even sure where to start with what’s been going on in the World O’ Faith. Ok well let’s be serious work has monopolized most of my time. But in between that monopoly life’s been storming. And when I say storming, I really mean storms people, but luckily it’s quieting down a bit.

There’s no better place to start besides my last entry. In my previous post I was still stationed in Sao Paolo. Question: Is it possible to age a year in 8 weeks time, probably not but I feel 30 and I haven’t even reached 29 yet! Don’t worry I’m planning on throwing a great big ole bash to bring in 30 and all of my readers (the 2 that are left) are invited. Anywho being so far from family and friends I started to feel like my life at home was just a dream. I know this requires some explanation.

All the characters normally so front in center in my life were puttering around still doing the things they do and living their lives with no involvement from lil ole me…vain much? Not that I thought their lives would automatically cease as I mounted a jumbo jet to Brazil but it was deflating to know that as important as I think I am people were getting along without me. That was a growing moment! The Little Brother was responsible enough to take care of home without my 1001 reminders or nagging. Maybe he didn’t do it just like I would but it got done, the absolute definition of having more than one way to skin a cat. The Best Friend navigated single-dome with the advice and shoulder of Nurse Friend. Male Nurse Friend went on his vakay and took pictures without my angles. My life was going on without me, a movie playing with my cast of characters but I wasn’t in any scenes.

It started to get a little depressing listening to my life instead of living it. I was an outsider amongst family. Faith was not a happy camper, although it was nice to hear from everyone sporadically it only helped to remind me that I was not there in the thick of things. My real life was a dream and the only thing to fall back on was work, not really a thrilling alternative.

Work equaled hell! There is no other way to explain it. For 8 weeks straight I worked 16+ hour days. We know I am career minded; however, at home I balance my scales. I work and play hard, point blank period! In Sao Paolo I worked hard and played not at all. It’s just that simple. And it didn’t help that we had a language barrier that stalled our project for close to two weeks. Given our overly aggressive schedule a two week delay only added to everyone’s stress levels. Not to mention that half the Brazilian team was green, freshly hired consultants with little to no experience. In addition all the deliverables (final documents prepared for the clients) had to be completed by Fellow Traveler and I. All I have to say is pressure busts pipes.

Leaving Sao Paolo was the happiest moment of my adult life to date, how sad is that? Unfortunately arriving in Toronto (for financial reasons we had to fly through Canada) brought the trip home way down. Most of that was due in large part to being detained by Canadian immigration and having my bag searched like a common terrorist. After that fantabulous ordeal I missed my flight back to Philadelphia to which the Air Canada staff replied, “Well it could be a lot worse at least there’s a flight leaving in a few hours.” Thanks, I felt a helluva lot better considering I’d been flying for the last 10 hours hadn’t had a shower, woke to an elderly man swinging his man parts in my face (for whatever reason Crazy Balls, as he was so nicely named, decided during the flight to unhitch his pants and free ball the flight back to Toronto. I didn’t notice any of this from my world o slumber until right before the plane landed waking to see wrinkled testes getting tucked into cargo pants….not a pleasant sight folks nope not at all) and still had 16 or so hours of work to complete that day. Sorry Air Canada you get the forever stank eye (o_O) even more so because the food on the flight to Toronto was a rat’s hair above prison fare.

Remember Canadians are known for hockey and that is all…this is me being a bit snide but Air Canada left a narsty taste in my mouth toward our neighbors to the North.

If it were hygienically safe to kiss the streets in Philly I would have. Considering the potential diseases one might catch I decided against it not to mention the streets were piled high with about 4ft of snow…but believe me I wanted to. Instead I relished that enthusiasm on the Spaniard who escorted me home…he comes in handy sometimes.

It was nice to take a shower in my bathroom and sleep in my bed (my being the key word here). Those single moments of peace were quickly interrupted by more work for the project and that thing we call life. Fellow Traveler and I picked up the slack (a recurring theme over the life of this project) while the Brazilians celebrated Carnival. It must be nice to enjoy a weeklong festival of hedonism right smack in the middle of a project…I wouldn’t know!

Snow jailed me to my apartment. The Little Brother watched as I took conference call after conference call with occasional bathroom breaks; notice I didn’t mention food or sleep. For at least a week I survived off of water and air. This is not the life I signed up for. My weekends were no better. Even when I did get away for Nurse Friend’s half a birthday celebration I was so overburdened with work I could barely enjoy myself. Things were nearing the breaking point.

In the middle of that storm, The Man Wander Married went off the deep end. Honestly that isn’t all that shocking considering he is a functioning lunatic (he’s my daddy and I love him but the truth is the truth). It’s a long story that I will sum up like this, Wander is relocating to an apartment until the papers are signed. Knife in the heart of my moving plans (did I mention that I want to move to San Diego)….yet again I take a backseat to all things family. At this point I can’t even say I mind because I’m so used to it, it just feels normal. And honestly it would be selfish of me to think of me first, right? At this time it’s best to deal with the uncomfortable-ness of parenting my parent until she is back on her feet. What will come of this situation; will be a happier, healthier Wander, of that I am sure!

To add to my confusion because clearly working like a slave and the walls collapsing on my parents already rocky marriage wasn’t enough my body decided to quit on me. Yup right in the middle of it all Fellow Traveler had to rush me to the ER! This will be the second time in 8 weeks time that Fellow Traveler sat in an emergency room with me. The first time I had to have my ear drained by a doctor who barely spoke English. Although he knew enough English to slide me his personal business card wink wink and tell me to call him any time day or night…ugh ugh ugh! If he hadn’t actually cleared the gook (technical term) out of my ear making it possible to hear again I might have reported his narsty a$$. Oh clearly I failed to mention that I got some kind of ear infection on the first flight to Sao Paolo causing me to lose my hearing for 10 days…not pleasant folks not pleasant at all. With the help of Inappropriate Doc I was back to myself relatively quickly. And outside of his behavior that ER trip was quick and painless.

In any event the recent trip to the ER wasn’t nearly as pleasant. Waves of pain ranging from 8-9 on a scale of 10 were hitting me every few minutes. Unfortunately I had to hop on a conference call with Texas before I could be escorted out of the office. Did I forget to mention how he ranted for about five minutes about not letting the stress of the job get to me before allowing Fellow Traveler to take me hobbling in pain to the cab, such a major queef! Yes I called him a queef!

Once at the hospital the pain was pretty much unbearable and threw me into fits of violent vomiting. Side note I never knew that pain could cause nausea, it appears you learn something new every day. Anywho in between spitting up bile all I could think about was the fact that this was the final day of the project and I needed to get the staffing model done before 5PM Brazilian time, clearly my priorities were in the wrong place. In addition to that thought I didn’t want to alarm my mother with my medical condition until I knew for sure what my medical condition was.

Finally, after an hour or so I was wheeled to the back. By that time my temperature was see sawing, one minute I was hot and the next minute I was getting chills. A technician came in to inform me that I wasn’t pregnant. Fantabulous, now figure out why it feels like a gremlin is crawling out the left side of my stomach. After about a half hour my temperature and blood pressure returned to normal….probably a direct result of the pain meds. Now the gremlin was down to a 2-3 out of 10 and the highlight of this day would be a pelvic exam, and I hadn’t even prepped!

And by prep I really mean got myself emotionally ready to have someone stick a duck’s beak somewhere it ain’t supposed to go.

Ms Pelvic went off without a hitch and all was good. I told Adolescent Doc, so named because she looked all of 12, that there was nothing wrong with my woman parts. She advised that since my pain was localized slightly above my uterus, a pelvic was a must along with a CT scan. After the violation of my downtown bonanza I was escorted to the scanning area. In between all of this fun I down played my pain with The Spaniard, Wander and the Little Brother. I mean there was no sense in getting everyone riled up if I wasn’t even 100 on what was wrong with me.

In the end it was just a kidney stone. It passed while I was in the hospital and I was allowed to go home with special instruction to follow up with my PCP just to make sure nothing else was wrong. That appointment is yet to be scheduled.

There’s more of course but this post is already too long so I guess this will be part 1 of a 2 part series. I must catch you up on the happenings of all things romanticals in my life…

Week in Review: Sao Paolo…There Ain’t Much Else That I Can Say

2010-01-09T19:28:00.004-05:00

This is an actual bridge in Sao Paolo!!!

When everyone heard that I would be traveling to Brazil for about a month they were all overjoyed. I however only saw trouble. Trouble in the sense that it would be yet another project with Texas, yes infamous Texas from Vancouver would be heading up the work in Brazil (mostly from the US, how I don’t even know). But not because he wanted to head the work but because the manager who was originally staffed and helped sell the project decided to move to greener pastures….lucky him!!!! If you remember anything about Texas, he’s not the best manager but I’m quickly learning that my company talks a lot about being the best however our people and actions pale in comparison. Ah the life of a consultant. Not to mention Texas is super anal retentive, with the most ginormous chip on his shoulder it’s hard to ride in compact cars with him…I mean I’m not complaining I’m just making a friendly observation (maybe not so friendly but you smell what I’m cooking).

Did I forget to mention that I don’t speak a lick, iota, not a word of Portuguese. Guess that didn’t matter to the all mighty powers that be…moving right along!

In any event the prospect of flying to Brazil just a few days after the holiday just didn’t sit well with me. Partially because I am in a bit of a funk about the whole going back on my word about the Spaniard, why do I do this to myself? Something is wrong with me I know. Maybe I really want to believe the lie. The little Faith inside keeps jumping up and down screaming you stoopid stoopid stoopid girl but I just keep ignoring her because sometimes the truth is a lie. Or sometimes we like believing the lie because it’s easier to digest. So my digestible lie is that he’s actually getting a divorce and hasn’t been with his wife for the last three years. I choose to believe this like so many other mistresses (sideways heifer…hey I call it like I live it these days) because it’s easier than admitting the obvious truth, that he’s probably slaying both myself and his wife (shuddering a little in the corner at the detestable nature of that last comment).

Man oh man how those morals they do fall.

And to add insult to injury you know because nothing in my life goes as planned, The Little Brother (TLB) totaled Juan. Yup you read that right; Juan is sipping mojitos in a land where good cars go after ridonkulous accidents on the ice. Before you try to hang me at the stake I made sure my flesh and blood was 100 (this is slang it means ok in this instance) before asking about the car. Believe it or not I haven’t yelled at The Little Brother once for the accident. (This is subject to change if I have trouble securing another equally reliable relatively similarly priced automobile.) TLB suffered nothing more than a bruised ego…too bad his bruised ego had to come at the expense of Juanino. Yet another expense I wasn’t ready for, much like my $600 cell phone bill from making calls in Vancouver on my personal cell, but I guess that’s why they call it life. If it wasn’t full of janky shit it wouldn’t be nearly as fun…or nearly as interesting to blog about.

Ah so back to this whole Faith you’re flying to Brazil thing. Anything that could have gone wrong with this whole trip did go wrong the first week. Let me just give you the run down in bullet point form because well I’m a consultant and we likes our bullet points because it makes us feel like we’re doing our job well. (I would bet half my paycheck there isn’t a presentation (we call them decks) that exists that doesn’t have some form of bullet point, ok I might be pushing this mundane topic too far).

What went wrong in no particular order:

Told literally at the last minute to book a flight to Brazil at the cheapest rate possible which pretty much meant you’re flying coach unless you have status…ugh!!!!
Totaled Juan…well I didn’t but TLB did
Entertained some nonsense with The Spaniard (good and bad for me sort of like ice cream
Didn’t get my Brazilian visa until the last possible minute (it arrived the Thursday before the flight on Sunday)
Ignored two state-side text messages, one from Mailroom Boy and the other from the taxi driver (I use my cell as my primary number no I didn’t give my number to yet another random taxi driver) who mistook my friendly conversation for sexual innuendo
Delayed in Philly airport (not surprising) causing me and Fellow Traveler to dart through Dulles Airport in order to catch the last plane smoking to Sao Paolo
Saw my life flash before my eyes not once, not twice but three times while in flight on the monster jet from Dulles to Sao Paolo…literally I believe we dropped 5k feet out of the air at one point over the Amazon (children were screaming)
Arrived in Sao Paolo (Fellow Traveler’s luggage wasn’t so lucky and actually never left Philly) with a serious case of bubble guts but I didn’t make it to the hotel for another two hours…y’all know I can’t do public restrooms
Met Texas and all he wanted to talk about was how the Eagles lost to the Cowgirls…WHATEVER!!!!!
Felt like the outer limits of hell traveling in the Sao Paolo traffic
Expected to actually rush from the airport to the client site after a few minutes of “freshening up” clearly some stoopid ass man thought of this (sorry for any hombres in the audience but seriously after 17 hours of travel the last thing I’m thinking about is going straight to the office how about an actual shower, dirty ass bastards!!!!!

And before I forget why were there no washclothes in my room and why didn't anyone know what I was talking about when I asked for one at the front desk.

Oh yeah and happy new year folks!!

The Vault: Nope He’s Not Wearing Undies!

2009-12-11T14:18:00.001-05:00

Lately my life has been so boring I’d rather watch a patch of grass grow and as a result I’m gonna pull an oldie but goodie from my vault of oddly amusing things that have happened to me. In addition Cardiogirl asked that I give her the back story on a comment I left on her blog so I figure since I’ve literally got nothing else I might as well satisfy her curiosity.

Without further ado….back when I was a stressed out, underappreciated and overworked senior attending a Jesuit University in Philadelphia I decided it would make sense to lighten my load by taking a nonsense class. Considering my rather hectic work schedule that required me to be class free on Fridays, by night I was a directory assistance operator, my course selection was restricted to classes offered Mon-Thur. Additionally I’d have to find something that interested me. With that small list of requirements I found myself in student services rearranging my schedule.

Not surprising there were only a few classes that even fit the mold. Now I would have preferred to take advanced Psychology considering I’d already taken the intro course. My initial thought was that while not 100% aligned to my major, Criminal Justice, it linked quite nicely and would compliment my growing resume of Criminology and Sociology classes. Just for shits and giggles I’d taken two Philosophy classes…you know trying to be well rounded and read. Unfortunately it was offered on that frigging M/W/F schedule so it was a no go.

After about a half hour of toiling futilely through the catalogue I happened upon an Intro to Art class. Booyah! Believe it or not this was right up my alley. Back in the day I was very much into sketching and the course description said it would be an introduction to sketching, sculpting and painting. And to put it over the top, it was offered on Wednesdays for three hours at night, and I know I said I worked at night but Wed was my night off so this seemed like it dropped from the sky above.

Like every good rainbow severing the clouds from the heavens above it started first as rain….well in this case more like an amusing Caribbean shower. My first night in class I didn’t know what to expect. The course details didn’t indicate what if any materials we needed, it just said something like bring your imagination…no problem there I had mine in tow with me all day. To that end I guess I was more than prepared.

The art classroom was pretty small, oh wait the word is quaint isn’t it or maybe intimate. Yes yes, the art classroom was intimate. It held enough room for 14 students and 1 professor comfortably. Once inside I began chit chatting it up with the other students. I wanted to know if they’d been given any advance notice of the materials we’d need going forward…you know I’m anal like that. No one seemed to know and the professor was nowhere in sight.

My life as a career student had taught me that on the first day of class teachers and students alike are equally capable of being up to 15 minutes late so I wasn’t going to stress out that he was tardy to the party. Of course with 14 or so random students of differing ages, majors and sexes the conversation soon turned to recent parties and a whole bunch of other debauchery, ah college!

Anywho I’d taken up talk with a relatively cute butter pecan Puerto Rican hombre to my immediate left, for what it’s worth we’ll call him Butter Pecan for the rest of this post or BP for short. He was local Philly not imported Jersey like so many of the other students. This was rather refreshing. Standing to Butter Pecan’s immediate left was an overly tan large haired individual reminiscent of Bon Jovi but I didn’t give it much thought because I was lost in silly flirty convo with Butter Pecan.

By ten minutes in the room was pretty loud with tons of side conversations and the like. Suddenly and I say suddenly because before anyone could realize it Mr. Bon Jovi took center stage. And you know I say center stage because it dawned on me in that very moment in the middle of the intimate classroom there was a sort of podium type contraption with painters clothe draped across it, subtle details.

Once on stage Mr. Bon Jovi dropped trou!!!!!! Yes you read that right; he dropped trou in front of everyone with no warning. And really it took me by surprise in particular because he was so dang close to Butter Pecan that it almost had the appearance that Mr. Bon Jovi was giving BP a private show. Of course that wasn’t the case but you know appearances. After de-clothing all willy nilly he struck a sort of work of modern art pose and held it. And yes if you guessed that the room fell monastery silent you’d be 100% right except for some horriprised (horrified and surprised) gasps from the collective peanut gallery.

What broke the silence, Butter Pecan of course saying, “Damn dude you could have given us some kinda warning, yo! I wasn’t even prepared for that. (Turning to face me) Aye Yo, what the hell, he don’t even have no drawers on…it’s cold as shit outside.”

Hmmm this situation is uncomfortable, at least I’m not alone in my uncomfortable-ness.

I understood BP’s frustration or maybe slight awkwardness, hell the classroom was full of folk caught completely off guard, I mean it’s not too often someone de-clothes in a semi crowded room.

My only response, “Yup you’re right he’s not wearing any underwear!”

Before long the professor walked in and instructed us to pick up a sketch pad from along the wall and begin capturing Mr. Bon Jovi’s “essence.” When he said that all I could really see was his hair…you know because I felt it slightly inappropriate to stare at his little man jewels. Even still the teacher liked my work…he said that he could feel Mr. Bon Jovi’s energy in my rendition even though I’d forgotten his essentials.

Even though I went through a semester of nudes and got relatively comfortable with the concept of holding normal conversation with someone who suddenly de-robes I never ever really got comfortable with the sculpting, painting or sketching of the essentials.

Weekly Rant: Black Friday is the Devil!!!

2009-12-09T11:30:00.010-05:00

When the Best Friend called and said that there’s this 32in television I must have or I’ll die and would like to have a partner in crime while I’m out getting this steal, I should have declined. Of course hindsight is 20/20. After a little leg pulling, because at the time I was still very much working slave hours for the Vancouver client project I agreed to be her wing woman, her stand in line while I tinkle woman, her grab that 30 pack of Rubbermaid canisters woman…you get the point. That woman was me.

I should have definitely declined the offer but I hadn’t seen the Best Friend in a month of Sundays and believe it or not I was in some ways looking forward to being sequestered in the yellow smiley face rollback prices store for hours. However, the Best Friend informed me that we wouldn’t have to stand in line for hours on end because this year, suddenly the smart stick hit execs, people would get tickets at 12AM on a first come first serve basis for the item of his/her choice and have to return to the store at 5AM to retrieve said item. Fantabulous! That meant I could peruse the aisles while my friend waited patiently to get her ticket then we could return to her house. Once at her home I’d finish my work stuff, catch some zzz’s and then wake early grab breakfast and scoop up her television along with a mess of other “Black Friday” deals.

All sounds wonderrific, right?

And since it did sound so fantabulous you know it was not! First bubble buster there was no exiting the store once you secured a ticket. Second bubble buster, after securing said golden ticket you were pigeon holed to a line for the remainder of your stay. And by remainder of our stay I mean at 12:15AM when we sauntered our happy tails into Walsucks we had to remain in line until 5 bells before we could officially purchase the television. This meant no going back to finish the mountains of work I needed to complete nor getting up early for breakfast, and y’all know I loves me some diner breakfast.

This would be beginning of the stank eye (o_O) for Black Friday and the end of my already on thin ice relationship with Walsucks. No matter I prefer Tarjay anyway!

As luck may have it, walking through the aisles of merchandise I was unable to purchase until 5AM (for whatever reason the staff had duct tapped tons of items customers were not allowed to touch during the 5 hour jail sentence) I happened upon some very lonely bar stools not packaged in 5AM tape. My first thought was genius, now I wouldn’t have to pop a squat on the narsty Walsuck's floor and the second thought was damn these stools will look sick (this is slang and means fantabulous) in my apartment…bottom line, two for one!

Side note: I was allowed to walk around because I wasn’t purchasing a ticketed item.

Upon my return, stools in hand, to the line the Best Friend had the I’m so not feeling this sh*t face. I told her about some relatively decent deals which seemed to perk her spirits and we began setting up our stools along the nearest display wall. Those stools must have had some kind of magic Walsuck worker power because within minutes some jerk-off in a blue smock came over to discuss the “stool situation.”

Walsuck’s Worker: Uh you’re not allowed to sit if you’re waiting in line.

Me: Is that in some type of written document…did you give notice to the people on the floor? I don’t think they got the memo.

Walsuck’s Worker: What I mean is you’re not allowed to sit on stools if you’re waiting in the line.

Me: Really?

Walsuck’s Worker: Yeah it’s not fair to the other people who are waiting in line.

Me: Is that so…is it my fault that none of them thought of getting chairs to sit on for the next five hours. I shouldn’t be penalized because I found a creative solution.

Walsuck’s Worker: Uhhhh, yeah ummm, well the only way you can sit on them then is if you agree to buy the stools.

Me (turning my head toward my friend indicating that I was done with the conversation): I’m buying them!

Do you think it ended here….if you do, you’re dead wrong!

The Best Friend and I share some smart ass conversation about people taking positions of no power to their heads. Before long we’re rudely interrupted by the Harleysville Walsuck’s Manager.

Walsuck’s Manager: You two can’t sit on those stools.

Me: I’ve had this conversation with your worker a few minutes ago; I told him I’m buying the stools.

Walsuck’s Manager: It doesn’t matter. You’re creating a safety issue by sitting on the stools.

Me: You can’t be serious? We’re creating a safety issue? We’re creating a safety issue?

Walsuck’s Manager: Yes YOU’RE creating a safety issue. If YOU’RE seated on the stools someone could come by, trip and hit their head on the ground.

Me (holding back a laugh): Whatever, you might want to tell that to the dozen or so folks who are lying on the floor making it impossible for other customers to walk down the aisles. You might also want to mention that to the other dozen or so customers who are sitting on shelves with merchandise hanging every so nicely above their heads. Oh yeah and you might want to mention that to the people who are sitting on boxes in the middle of the aisles. You know since you’re giving out safety advice. Oh and by the way, it’s also a safety issue to have people standing in lines for hours without suitable seating during the wee hours of the morning. Not to mention roping off areas, yet another safety issue. I could go on but I think you get my drift right? But maybe you don’t should I dumb it down for ya?

I admit not my finest moment and quite possibly too condescending to a woman who was probably old enough to be my mother. In my defense I was at my wits end with the stupidity of the whole Black Friday event.

Walsuck’s Manager (arms flapping and doing a slight bottleneck): What did you say? I don’t want any trouble. I don’t want to have to escort you out!

By now my friend gave me the please don’t get us kicked out of line we’ve been here too damn long and I really want this television look. And since I care more about my friend’s feelings than actually being right (as painful as it was) I conceded.

Me: You’re kidding right, trouble. Some people!

The Best Friend and I got off the stools and placed them along the display. After a minute or two of huddled sideline conversation between the manager and her minions, one walked over and stated that the manager said that I still had to purchase the stools once I checked out. I didn’t bat an eye until the moron placed the stools inside our cart to which I questioned where television would fit. No answer, but not really all that surprising.

By 3AM I settled down slightly. I mean at least I wasn’t the lady who got kicked out for “shopping” during her 15 minute bathroom break. She was escorted out by security at the behest of the Walsuck’s Manager. Kicked Out Customer yelled something like now this b*tch thinks she’s a Somebody because she’s making 6 dollars an hour and wearing a blue smock, f*ck that! I could be adding dramaticals here but believe me it was something like that. Standing in vain for hours really pisses people off…just a thought!

At the stroke of 5 a free for all pretty much broke loose. When the Walsuck’s Worker started to place the 32in television on top of the two stools they placed in our cart earlier, I had to speak up.

Me: You might wanna take the stools out of the cart before you put the tv in, I’m just saying.

Walsuck’s Worker: You’re right.

Walsuck’s Security Guard (pretty much appearing out of nowhere): Oh no these two(pointing at my friend and I) have been sitting on those stools all night and have to purchase them or they can’t get this television.

Me: First off Captain Flashlight I haven’t been sitting on anything all night. And if you were standing guard around here you’d already know that. Second you can’t make me purchase anything!

Walsuck’s Worker: Don’t worry about it he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. (turning to face the security guard) Hey man calm down and go back to your post.

By this time I’d already begun my walk to the front of the store to secure a customer comment card. Granted I might have added to the heightened tension that night/morning between myself and the Walsuck's staff but stoooopidity coupled with bad customer service gets under my skin to a whole other level.

From now on I won’t ever go out again on Black Friday and both Walsuck and Black Friday get the eternal stank eye (o_O)

Two Weeks or More in Review: There’s No Place Like Home

2009-12-02T22:08:00.005-05:00

It feels so damn good to be stateside and not only stateside but in my right time zone. To add insult to injury I returned home stuck in PST which didn’t help much considering all the frigging work that I still needed and need to do for the project. Work never stops!!!!!

Enough of the boring sh*t already let’s jump into some of the fun or almost fun or should have been fun but aren’t fun things that have happened to me since last we spoke. Side note downtown Vancouver absolutely fantabulous, if ever I went back that way I’d take a boo and stay at the Westin, not that tore down piece of dung the client had us in to save costs. Did I tell you how the first room had a bullet hole in the carpet? Considering the niceness of most Canadians it probably wasn’t a bullet hole, but there was large piece of carpet missing at the door of my room. While there I went to the Vancouver Art Gallery which inspired my inner artist…I plan to get back into sketching.

But I digress!

Returning to Philadelphia was a task that started out all types of well. I arrived early to the airport, without my ridonkulous manager, Texas, getting lost. For whatever reason he thinks he can read any map and know exactly where he’s going…most times he does not. I can’t count the amount of times we were “lost” right around the corner from where we were supposed to be. He insists he asks for directions when it’s necessary…yeah right don’t feed me those lies as I sat for hours circling a residential block just three blocks over from our hotel at 2 in the morning.

Anywho I get to the airport with about an hour and a half to spare. I dip into a couple stores to grab trinkets for my friends and familia that I’d forgotten during the trip and pop over to my gate. No worries, I board the plane and actually get about 4 good hours of work done without any interruption. It was a good flight, even had breakfast, a fruit and yogurt parfait…scrumptilicious!

Arrived at ORD aka Chicago O’Hare Airport a few minutes before schedule only to turn on my cell phone and find out my flight to Philly was cancelled due to inclement weather. WTF!!!!! This couldn’t be happening the day before the holiday, stuck in a foreign city with no turkey or stuffing or Wanders sweet potatoes! But of course it was happening.

Luckily somewhere over the rainbow…oh wait that’s the Wizard of Oz…anywho by some type of dumb luck or God taking pity on my poor soul, knowing I’d worked through all my clean pairs of panties on the trip, there appeared to be an opening on an earlier flight. Of course it was about two terminals away and I’d have to get my Flo Jo on to get there but desperate times call for desperate measures. As I rounded the corner I heard blaring over the intercom the last call for me to make the plane. Glory be to Jesus, I was on my way to Philly, booyah!!!!!

Even the thought of returning to the awkwardness of my situation with Mailroom Boy or the dying slowly “friendship” with The Spaniard wasn’t upsetting. I was just happy to be home home home. Under normal circumstances I don’t get homesick but for whatever reason I racked up a lot of Faith phone home minutes this trip. Maybe it was the extended weekend.

So let me catch you up about Mailroom Boy. I’ve been doing the slow fade. As slow fades go I thought I was doing a pretty decent job until I received a text from him on a late night tip a week or two before I left this last time asking if he could stop by to keep me company. Let me see are we planning on playing yatzee or something otherwise I don’t really see a point of you “stopping” by my place at 1 in the morning. Clearly the lines of “just friends” are blurred, to which I blame myself. I need to learn to keep my lips to myself. In my defense I haven’t kissed the man since the $14 incident and we’ve only been out once since then and it was a day time bust it up with ya homie type of deal, at least I thought so.

To add insult to injury the night before I left to go to Vancouver he sent me this cryptic message that said something like, Faith what’s really good with you? Sorry friend I don’t subscribe to all slang all the time and whatever he was trying to convey was definitely lost in translation. A part of me felt bad about this and to not look completely out of touch I just ignored the message. He followed up while I was in the airport. I told him that I didn’t answer because I was out and didn’t see the message until the wee hours of the morning. This was in part true. I was out late but I saw the message and was puzzled. In any event he texted that he meant to say more but he was drunk and can’t concentrate on two things at once….OK great!

Shortly before I boarded the plane he sent me another text message that said we need to get more fimiliar (note the incorrect spelling). And yes I know this makes me an ass but for whatever reason I couldn’t shake the spelling error. Don’t get me wrong I uck up some grammar and my spelling well it leaves something to the imagination but I try, when sending messages to folk, to spell simple things correctly or indicate my inability to spell the word by inserting (sp?). Now I could definitely be reading that fimiliar wrong but I took it to me something sexual….oh wait that’s NEVER gonna happen. Clearly he didn’t get the we’re just friends memo!

On to not much greener pastures, I’m at my wits end with The Spaniard! He’s pretty much worked every nerve I have left in my body. He totally doesn’t understand why sometimes I’m just really not in the mood to deal with his sh*t and why I’m not willing to be in a “relationship” with him. How many times can you have the same conversation?

Did I forget to mention that I’ve heard no hide nor hair of the impending divorce since his 2 month declaration approximately 2 months ago…but who’s counting.

Anywho he did take me to the airport for the final trip. We had a semi argument…I actually was being quite the female dog in heat but in my defense Mother Nature had my uterus doing somersaults. And honestly I don’t even feel bad about telling him he’s a liar and I will never trust a word that comes out of his mouth. I followed that gem with it didn’t make any sense why he even wanted to be back in a relationship we me because outside of extracurricular exercise we had absolutely NOTHING in common. He looked sad but such as life.

He made it a point to text me every morning and send little messages during the day which was nice…but I’m not impressed and didn’t respond to half of them. I guess he got my message or actually took that trip to visit his brother who happened to get in a narsty car accident because I haven’t talked to him in about a week.

I decided to delete The Spaniard’s number from my phone. The Best Friend said I should do him one last time before I sever the ties but my gut tells me that will blur the lines of this “friendship” even more.

On a related but different note, randomly Mr. Handcuffs, a cop I was sort of dating a while back got in touch with me over the holiday. I don’t anticipate anything jumping off with him but I am sort of curious why he still has my number considering it’s been at least 9 months since I last spoke to him. He told me that he moved closer to my apartment…interesting!

And side note remind me never to go shopping on Black Friday because I almost caught a case, that’s slang it means arrested. Somehow a 32in television for $250 isn’t worth getting a criminal record. Also Wal-Mart is an absolute piece of sh*t store and I will never spend another dime there. Don’t worry I’ll give more detail during my weekly rant, consider this a precursor.

Bloggers Unite - World AIDS Day 2009!!!!

2009-12-01T15:53:00.003-05:00

In 2009 it's hard to meet someone who isn't infected or affected by HIV/AIDS. What's scarier is the fact that over 1 million people in the United States are infected and a quarter of those don't even know. Not knowing your status keeps everyone at risk!

Did you now that 50% of all new AIDS cases in America are for people under 25? Prevention is the key. Although abstinence is the only 100% sure fire way to remain HIV/AIDS free it is not practical. It's simply a disservice to only promote abstinence. In order to thwart HIV in it's tracks we must be cognizant of all the measures needed to keep us safe.

One of the ways to ensure your sexual safety and those of your loves one is to truly understand how HIV/AIDS is transmitted. You cannot get infected by casual contact. Casual contact includes use of public telephones, using public rest rooms, shaking hands or even a casual kiss. HIV lives in blood, semen or vaginal fluid and is transmitted three primary ways:

Having sex (anal, oral and vaginal) with someone infected with HIV
Sharing needles and/or syringes with someone infected with HIV
Being exposed (infant or fetus) to HIV before or during birth or through breast milk

Know your status. For a testing site near your home please visit http://aids.gov/. Before getting involved in a sexual relationship, know your partner's status. If you aren't comfortable discussing your sexual history, consider that the idea that you aren't mature enough to engage in sex at all.

Always take precautionary measures even if you're in a committed relationship. Employ the use of condoms and spermicide when engaging in any type of sexual behavior. If not you can become a part of the growing group of young adults living with HIV/AIDS. Seventy percent of people living with HIV in 2006 were between the ages of 25 and 49 (770,000 persons) which equates to the entire population of South Dakota. Before we wipe any more states off the map let's get out there and:

Understand the ways HIV is transmitted
Know your status and keep it up to date
Know your partner's status
Continue to use condoms and spermicide

Week In Review: I Won’t Be The Crazy Old Cat Lady…

2009-11-06T16:47:00.011-05:00

If anyone wants to know I wasn’t in Vancouver this week. I was in Chi-town booyah!!!! (Hella swamped with work with no ability or time to blog properly and for that I’m sorry.) Well not exactly booyah because I didn’t see anything besides the hotel room, the hotel’s attempt at a sports bar and the client’s office. Yes it’s depressing I know Chi-town is actually quite the swell happening spot…maybe next time.

If anyone wants to know Wander called me last weekend sticking yet another thorn in this here quarter life crisis by saying something to the effect, I hope you don’t end up alone with a whole bunch of cats. I really want you to be able to love someone. Do you want to go with me to Lord & Taylor to buy some boots? Uh yeah I want some boots but can we address the first part of your statement before we run off on a shopping spree?

Wander these sideways comments must cease…I mean seriously, you think I don’t already stress enough about the future of Faith enough! Would she prefer I settle?

This comment while I know has good intention somewhere behind it, I hope, implies I’m incapable of loving someone. And by default will end up on a porch somewheres knitting with two cats on my lap. Way to show your Faith in me Wander.

Couple that comment with The Spaniard and his you’re such a guarded person BS and you have the makings of a quarter life nervous break-down minus the Lexapro (that’s not a stab at anyone who takes meds responsibly because for some folk it is very very very necessary and for others well it’s a substitute for dealing with life’s ups and downs…I am off the soapbox, feel free to disagree). OK not really a nervous break-down per se but y’all know I loves me some dramaticals ( I get it natural see Wander’s comments above.) because it makes for better story telling am I right? Come on now you can tell me.

Alrighty back to the point…did I actually have a point…not sure this post is a bit of a ramble. Anywho I pocketed Wander’s gem along with Spaniard's half a gem and went on with my week. My super packed work week that is with nothing more than the morning stretch and scratch to serve as me time, yet somehow I managed to fit in reading a couple articles out of Glamour.

In my world Glamour is a more adult version of Cosmopolitan, don’t argue just go with it.

In addition to reading Glamour I stole a second or two, alright I stole like five minutes to check my comments from the prior week and respond. My blogging faithfuls and you know who you are dropped some serious knowledge. Since, as far as I know none of you have syndicated shows let me be the first to say y’all are better than Oprah I Swear for Jesus Winfrey! In truth I respect your thoughts more so than some of the non blog folk I see in person…you know real world people I interact with not via computer…scary right!

If I may paraphrase and I can because this is my house and I live here…hey isn’t that a song (Diana Ross)…I am so random today…must be the Friday bug.

Cardio Girl said (in my CG voice): Sweep the leg, Betch, either you gotta shet or get off the pot! I kid I kid. She really said as you grow and learn more about this thing we call life your perspective is gonna change. And it’s OK if it changes; don’t beat yourself up about it.

Reforming Geek said: Howdy, divorce happens make a damn decision already…no no that’s not what she said. She said if the only thing holding you back from something you want is a little snafu maybe you should give it some more consideration.

La’Tonya said: Honey don’t apologize for wanting who you want when you want him but make sure you’re comfortable with him and he treats you with respect! You’re young have fun, drink beer and be merry. Ok I added that last part!

Glamour Magazine said: Don’t apologize for who you are! Be happy in your own skin, emote confidence, demand respect and do it in a killer outfit.

Oh I must not forget my girl Diva! Diva told me a long time ago to play hard but be prepared for the consequences!

So I’m off to find shoes to match this killer outfit…deuces!

Weekend Update: Truly Having Quarter Life Issues These Days….

2009-10-26T22:55:00.008-04:00

What is this life about?

Sometimes at night when I hug my pink and green blanket that was so nicely knitted for me by a friend’s girlfriend I wonder if I’ll ever have the perfectly fulfilled life of a modern day super woman: a career that pays the bills with extra to buy fierce heels and handbags as well as a comfortable home life with a sezylicious husband and 2.5 children. Granted I never understood how one has 2.5 children I mean either you have 2 or 3 but I’m sure you get what I’m saying.

During my scans of the blogger world I find myself most interested outside of folk who live stupenderful singles lives equally drawn to chiquittas who blog about family life (mostly stay at home moms). On some level I presume I want that too. It’s seems to be at polar odds with everything that comes out of my mouth but on some elemental level I want to be someone’s wife…I think.

Well at least this week that’s what I thought about. Believe it or not people I even gave serious thought to being an ahemmom! (Shuddering a little in a corner, didn’t come to a conclusion) Nope you didn’t read that last line wrong. I actually sat down and had a one-on-one with Faith and said damn it don’t you think you have something to offer the world? When I take the long walk I don’t want a headstone that reads there lays a chica who had great taste in shoes and helped every insurance carrier and self insured develop efficient and effective claim processes. That life is hollow and superficial and quite sad actually…not to mention lonely as hell!

Don’t get me wrong…I wouldn’t categorize myself as lonely. And before you run off to prescribe some type of Lexapro for me I’m not depressed….at least I don’t think so…no I’m not depressed, just pensive. And honestly if I wanted a body just for the sake of feeling another person next to me I could have my bed occupied. (That’s not me being conceited; this post isn’t about inflating my ego.) Finding a body is simple. Finding that imperfect person to suit me perfectly…quite the pill to swallow without a chaser and personally I’m a fan of chasers. Thought I had a leg up in the race considering that I know myself but knowing me isn’t enough for this test it appears.

I’ve always been a great student but for whatever reason I’m failing these classes…at least that’s how it feels.

Sadly I can’t tell you where all this is coming from. I did over the weekend run into one of my exes. He still has the prettiest eyes I’ve ever seen…hazel grey pools that are easy to lose yourself in if not careful. He’s married with children now…but wasn’t with his wife at the movies. I guess this is the way of the world today. Married is the new single!

I’m noticing many a wedding bell tolled for a number of my ex tools. When dating them I knew they were of the marrying kind. Maybe on some level I wanted them to convert me. Definitely boys to bring home to mom…I never did because I knew I wasn’t in it for the long haul. Does that make me selfish?

Several posts ago I said I noticed that a lot of my exes are selfish but like attracts like right? On some level I too must have a selfish streak. It’s such an unsightly personality trait really but the first step is admitting a problem exists!

The Spaniard told me I’m cold. Granted he doesn’t really have a true say but it’s not the first time I’ve heard this from a guy.

Me: You haven’t given me a reason not to be. When I was trying with you I was wrapped in a lie. Not only that if you really knew me I’m the farthest from cold. Ask anyone who’s behind my walls.

The Spaniard: I want to be one of those people, but I guess I deserve this?

Me: As long as you realize how I treat you now is a direct reflection of everything we’ve been through we’ll be fine. Don’t expect me to run into your arms like some damn romantic comedy because you’ve tried to weasel back into my life under the guise of friendship. This ain’t the movies and I’m not stupid. I won’t be mean to you because that’s not my way.

The Spaniard: My behavior has to change I know. The divorce will be final in two months. I will do anything.

Me: Please don’t feed me lines I’m not in the mood. Look I have to go to the laundry mat.

The Spaniard: Sure…it’s almost 9…you can tell me if you’re going out…is there someone else.?

Me: Good night!

Regression…I need to stop torturing myself. In the past I would have called him an asshole and never accepted another call. I need that Faith back…where has she gone….she was a bitch though!

Side note on my way to San Francisco (lay-over) I sat next to this Cute Elderly Couple, probably in their late fifties to early sixties. During take-off I noticed Cute Elderly Wife get a little antsy. Cute Elderly Husband responded by grabbing her hands and she laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. She stayed that way until we reached cruising altitude.

Maybe married isn’t the new single!

P.S. I’m kind of glad I’m going away for business…my mind will be so taxed with client work I’ll have little if any time to devote to this quarter life crisis.

Weekly Rant: Back with a Vengeance…Sike I Have Three Lil Thangs on My Mind

2009-10-22T12:31:00.004-04:00

Back to what I love most-est..and that would be ranting. Oh you don’t know how much I’ve missed ranting my little head off on this here thing I call my blog. Damn that Vancouver you get the forever stank eye o_0!!!!

Anywho back to the actual meat and potato portion of the meal shall we.

And yes I know I’m way late and a dollar short of 100 bucks but can someone please please please tell me why anyone took the Heene family seriously? OK granted I am a forever cynic and don’t really take anything anyone says at face value but a six year old floating away in a homemade helium balloon…to believe this you must be smoking crack! Not to mention that at the precise time of take off the two other children just happened to be recording it…coincidence I think ~~wife swap~~ not!

Not only that but this family already had glorious dreams of reality stardom. And side note when did being a reality star become the business (this is slang and it means awesome carry on)? Tell me reality star wannabes what exactly are you aspiring too? Oh that’s right you want to eat disgusting things for money, pimp out your man or woman parts for money, do borderline retarded things for money…does anyone see a theme here…if not it’s the for money part! So there you have it money is truly the root of all things ~~Lil Wayne~~ evil!

I can’t stomach this rant much longer so I’m calling it quits.

On to dumber pastures…well not actually dumber but even more depressing and depraved. If you haven’t heard this story let me be the first to introduce it to you.

Now at times I can be a bit uncaring but this bitch, yes I called her a bitch, is psychotic and needs more than the book thrown at her. If you didn’t read the story here’s my news byte; some gutter trash whore left her two and three year old nephews alone while she and the children’s mother drove a friend home. While carting said friend home the aunt’s house became engulfed in flames. As the neighbors listened in anguish to the little babies cries for help the mom and aunt were chillaxing on the drive back. Due to the amount of smoke and size of the flames neighbors were unable to get inside the home to rescue the children. Luckily firefighters were able to get to the kids and rush them to the hospital. Unfortunately one of the innocents didn’t make it and the other is in critical condition. Upon arrival at the scene the aunt had this to say after being asked if she regretted leaving the kids alone.

No, I really don’t because if they had been there by themselves, I don’t know if the boys set the house on fire or somebody threw something in there to set it on fire. I really need to get in there to see if my purse burned up. I had my Food Stamp Card and everything in there.

I couldn’t make this up if I tried. Need I really say more…OK I will. Is she kidding me? Now I get that some folks don’t actually process tragedy that well and maybe she was in a massive state of denial but WTF!!!!! Fits of uncontrollable tears and cries of pain I get but this I can’t understand on any level.

No seriously her food stamp card!!!!

On soooo many levels right now I want to inject her with a syringe full of hot battery acid. One of her nephews burned to death and the other is tapping on death’s door due to some janky behavior from both herself and the kid’s mom and this dirty hooker is worried about a damn food stamp card.

Priorities!

Can someone tell me why she wasn’t arrested at the scene of the crime?

OK giving myself a chill pill. I have one more item of contention folks and this is more of a personal pet peeve and a question than a rant rant. Do you like hairy men? I have all types of issues with hairy men. I think this stems from being picked up by a hairy dude as a child and accusing him of being a bear…it was hella scary. Anyway there’s nothing wrong with a little trim (ha ha that was hilarious and dirty all at the same time) gents. It doesn’t make you less manly to manscape. No one wants to rub against a burka. And not for nothing hair traps odors…ugh ugh and double ugh!

And that is all.

The Dealio aka The Interesting Haps in the Last Few Weeks: Second Chances Are Hard to Come By….

2009-10-19T14:21:00.007-04:00

Traveling to Vancouver every week is getting to be a bit much. Any semblance of a personal life has pretty much been wiped clean. Not that there has been much going on around those parts lately. But I prefer feeling my options are wide open not closed tight due to work obligations.

In any event while in Vancouver you’ll never guess who dialed my number or better yet sent a random feeler text my way….OK I know all three of you are in utter suspense….The Spaniard. Now now before going ape shit on me let me at least explain myself.

There’s been a little bit of a time gap (the anger boiled down to nil) since my last encounter with The Spaniard. And rightly so given the state of our disjointed union (something about finding out your quasi boyfriend having a wife can do that, go figure) but I presume he got an itch. For that I can’t really blame him. Side note: Someone needs to hold me back from myself because at the end of the day I’m truly at fault for entertaining his nonsense.

What is my weird fascination/obsession with this man?

My first mind said Faith don’t respond. Normally the first mind wins these conversations but the second mind said I wonder what excuse/lie/story he will tell in an attempt at mending the broken fence. Second mind continued talking and said you’re bored and in Vancouver with nothing but work to keep you company why not just see where this goes you have nothing to lose. With that guiding assumption, I bit the apple.

So after trivial I’m fine what are you doing these days how’s the family type of convo I basically started laughing. The Spaniard obviously didn’t see the humor surrounding the situation. I told him that I found it utterly hysterical that he could actually call me and talk to me as if yesterday we were bussing it up BFF style. As if nothing shy of two months ago I hadn’t learned, pretty assbackwardsly, that he is in fact married.

Silence….it was so quiet on the other side of the telephone I could hear hair growing. After a minute of nothing I said something like did I lose you in the titillating conversation friend! Fumbling with the precision of a teenage boy unfastening his first bra he began to ramble I’m sorry and how his marriage dissolved years ago but he needed to maintain that status in order to become a citizen. He has pretty limited dealings with his wife and they are in the process of getting a divorce. For all it’s worth this might actually be the truth. Ha ha I had to laugh at the ridonkulousness of that last line myself. It still doesn’t really explain why he lied from the beginning but I didn’t have the energy to play 1000 questions.

After providing that half ass story, blabbing about how he can’t imagine being with anyone else and he would do every and anything he needed for me to take him back he proceeded to explain how he’d been by my apartment a few times in the past month hoping to “accidently” run into me. I mentioned that seemed a bit stalkerish. He just laughed…OK I wasn’t joking though.

By the conclusion of a very long emotionally taxing conversation he asked two still up in the air questions…do I still care about him….could I consider being just friends?

These are interesting queries even in their own simplicity.

Do I still care about him…on some level I guess I still do care even though what and how everything happened made me extremely mad. Over the last month, I’ve moved past my anger yet underneath it lay the pieces of something. Defining that something isn’t as easy given the history of events. Not to mention regardless of his level of contact he is still in fact married. Married men, do not pass go do not collect $200, point blank period….right?

Are there shades of gray here…legally separated…no no do not pass go do not collect $200!!

Could I consider being just friends….not sure if that’s even feasible. It’s hard for me to imagine us chilaxing over old episodes of Law & Order without some tension. In general it would be rather difficult not to slip into old patterns of behavior with him based on our prior relationship. It’s only natural hence so many folk causally sexing their exes, don’t act like I’m the only one!

Sometimes it does just happen!

Not to mention my male friends are all up and between my dating life and I’m all up and between theirs with reckless abandon…this wouldn’t be an option given his admitted “feelings for me.” I won’t pretend I would want to hear his sloppy vagina conquests any more than he would want to hear about casual hook ups and bad dates. Something about it doesn’t hold water for me…and just seems all types of wrong.

Outside of him carting me to and from the airport for business travel I don’t see where our lives would ever need to interface. To be honest we don’t exactly play in the same sandbox professionally or personally. We had a chance meeting, an interesting borderline manic relationship and maybe that is just that!

Weekend Update: Hugging the Porcelain Baby and Flights to Vancouver

2009-10-08T17:08:00.004-04:00

When Nurse Friend invited me as her lipstick lesbian date to a co-workers’ wedding I was un-thrilled…totally and utterly un-thrilled after learning that the wedding shared timing with the upcoming Maxwell, Robin Thicke and Chrisette Michelle concert. Seemed to me that the concert was clearly the better option but then again it wasn’t my co-worker/friend so I could have been biased.

Considering that Mr. Back n’ Forth bailed on Nurse Friend and moved his undying love self back to his hometown, some landlocked state in Middle America, I felt it only right as a true friend to stand in and be her date, even in the face of the double sezyness posed by Maxwell (chocolate) and Robin Thicke (vanilla) and one can’t forget the fantabulous vocals of my girl, Chrisette….utterly breathtaking. And very un-Faithlike I didn’t run out and purchase an outfit although Nurse Friend drug me along on her purchasing escapades…believe me that’s not a complaint because we all know I heart shopping of any kind…except grocery.

Moving right along the wedding was interesting…only because it was presided over by a female minister…we don’t get much of those in the Baptist church as it’s more of a good ole boys club. Women do get to be deaconesses and wear those ah for the love of Jesus hats. After the ceremony we had about 2 ½ hrs to kill so we went to the nearest mall. There I knocked out two birds with one stone, some pre-Vancouver shopping and getting a pedicure. Nurse Friend elected for only a mani. By the time we finished the bride and party were just starting up the hor d'oeuvre portion of the reception.

I mingled with the folk I didn’t know while sampling options that looked and smelled meatless. During the reception I took a few pictures for Nurse Friend who conveniently forgot her camera and even chatted it up with the bride’s father…very cute salt n pepper gent I might add. Judging by his younger than anticipated wife I guess I’m not the only one thinking that thought…moving right along. Somewhere between the sloppy salad and the marina covered chicken the bubble guts began. I can’t truly pinpoint when the turn for the worse happened but by 9:30 waves of nausea swept over me.

Under normal circumstances it wouldn’t have mattered to me to upchuck right there considering that it was their food that made me feel this way. However knowing this was someone else’s wedding reception and if the shoe were perched on my foot I would be on one of the higher levels of pissed-off-ness seeing a guest of a guest hurl during my princess for a day party, I sashayed my way to the facilities. There I proceeded to spew forth what felt like everything in my stomach…not to good! After a few minutes Nurse Friend burst in to see if I was ok….yes I am an adult and can handle throwing up as a one woman show.

Granted throwing up after a great party never feels that bad…at least it happened as a result of something hella cool. Throwing up after a semi alright night…not on my list of wants to do, not that I had a choice or anything, not to mention that I had a 10 hour travel schedule planned for the next day. Oh so maybe I forgot to mention that for work for the next 8 weeks I will be back and forth to Vancouver.

Luckily by the next morning I felt somewhat better, a little queasy but suitable for travel…even middle seat travel. Not that I have a choice especially after hearing about two additional rounds of layoffs happening in the near future for my company. It is my preference to have a job to complain about rather than complaining about not having a job. Even still whoever said that I wanted to give up my weekends to travel? Hello I don’t get paid for weekend work!

So that was just a little rant. Anywho the first flight, from Philly to Chicago went off without a hitch. Problems rose on the flight from Chicago to Vancouver International. For whatever reason, rarely do you ever get one from the FAA there was a 30-45 min delay for the flight. Not to mention the flight was oversold, as usual, and the annoying flight steward kept asking if anyone was willing to give up his/her flight…judging by the oversoldness of the flight my guess was no…you know just a thought. In any event once on the plane, the ride was pretty smooth unlike my trip through customs.

Now in my mind I’d stereotyped Canadians into Americans with accents but nicer. Generally this is true. Instead of saying prah-cess (process) they say pro-cess…which actually might be the proper pronunciation now that I review the spelling of the word. Anyway arriving in Vancouver at 12AM which based on my body clock was actually 3AM and being interrogated by a cop without a gun wasn’t my ideal way to meet and great our neighbors to the north but I guess the pro-cess is just as excruciating the other way round. And after confirming this with a couple natives I’m right. The pro-cess ( I will never tire of saying it this way) is equally painful coming into the states if not worse.

From here the adventures begin eh…

Weekly Rant: I Wants Me Some of that Celebrity Justice

2009-09-30T23:05:00.004-04:00

Where do I start…OK how about here, skipping town after pleading guilty to raping a 13 year old girl and never being held accountable. I assume in the eyes of Hollyweird’s elite it’s not really “rape rape.” WTF???? Of course it isn’t. I mean when a man drags a drugged/liquored up barely teen (13 year old) aspiring actress/model to the home of a famous actor, I believe the reports said Jack Nicholson, has sex with her on a coach that’s not Rape. Granted one might argue that no actual force was involved but whoever said force had to be involved in order to constitute raping someone.

By definition rape is the sexual assault by a person involving sexual intercourse with or without penetration of another person without that person’s consent. Granted Ms. 13 may have actually said Roman Polanski I want to have your babies…I don’t believe this because while drunk coherent sentences don’t normally escape the mouths of adults let alone stoned teenagers. For that matter teenagers aren’t really in the coherent sentence business when sober anyway, you know just my opinion.

Anywho in my mind, even if Ms. 13 were actually 21 it was still rape…hello while under the influence of a controlled substance or liquor one cannot fully give her consent to have sex which is why many a date rapist have been convicted. But let’s get out of the land of make believe and hop right smack dab back into the actual meat and potatoes of this situation. At 13 by law no child is capable of giving her consent to have sex with an adult….sorry Roman you can’t steal the cookie. I don’t care if Ms. 13 came into your room and hoped on it (now that’s just vulgar) as the adult in the room you have an obligation to right the wrong. Not only that but after the age of 25 there really shouldn’t be any interest in lying down with anyone who can still be put on my punishment by her parents.

Bringing your dates home before the street light comes on has to get old.

Now 30+ years later it does seem a touch late…but hell it’s better late than never in my book. And really I don’t think they’re going to throw this 70+year old man in jail after he’s extradited from Switzerland but if they do I’m not gonna shed a tear or run around wearing a Free Roman Polanski button like a lot of these Hollywood jackasses. Can you believe these folks actually have a petition going like Freeing Roman Polanski is the new green campaign or something?

Famous folk keep saying (in the whiny voice) he’s a cinema genius. He’s one of the world’s best directors….so what! Since I’m a work comp guru does that mean I can renege on all the laws that society sets before me…probably not my bank account don’t have enough zeros. Does being a cinema genius or one of the world’s best directors in some rindonkulous way entitle you to walking above the law? Did I miss a memo that said if you can run with a football or direct a movie better than Joe Blow Average its perfectly fine if you also murder your ex-wife or rape a 13 year old child?

Clearly I must be wrong because this surely wasn’t “rape rape.” And WTF does that mean exactly? Is that whole “rape rape” similar to being a little pregnant. Clearly this is a yes or no thing…either he raped a 13 year old girl or he didn’t…my money’s on he raped her otherwise this cinema giant would have appeared and accepted his Oscar for the Pianist in 2002. Oh yeah it was that little thing called jail time that halted his flight to the states.

And you know Hollywood never ceases to amaze me. Only there do we celebrate junkies, mildly deranged pedophile type characters because they can do what…entertain. It’s always slightly baffling as a society the one thing we place so much importance (being entertained) on is something that is at the end of the day means less than nothing. Why don’t you try being a good person!

Just a question…if Roman Polanski was a teacher would you want him arrested?

Weekend Update: Ah To Be Five Again…

2009-09-29T19:12:00.010-04:00

This is gonna be a little different from my usual weekend updates...consider that a disclaimer.

Back when the Best Friend was preggers with my Godson to be, I secretly hoped he would be born on my birthday. It wasn’t a selfish thought it was one of those I want to be an ultra exceptional God Mommy who shares her birthday with her special little guy…OK maybe it was selfish, whatever. Anywho it was what I wanted you know because me don’t wants little bundles. Trust my vicarious motherhood through the Best Friend and Wander has helped enough to pretty much scorch out any inkling of mom gene in me…believe it folks. Of course Fate/Mother Nature/Whatever Higher Power You Subscribe To decided it wasn’t meant to be. Instead my Godson was born 10 days after my birth making him a Libra (what kinda of jacked up sh*t…and who’s a Libra anyway no offense to the Libras in the house), I mean those Powers could have hooked me up with the same sign…bastards.

Now originally the Best Friend and Dapper Dan were having a bowling party at one of my favorite hang outs, North Bowl for the Godson but it was changed to an in the house party for the tots at Dapper Dan’s house…way low key…me likes. Well me likes besides the clean up that takes place after tons of little people run through a home all hopped up on Capri Suns and Candy. Kids are sadistic little something or others when they’re coming down off a sugar high…it is at this point I find the nearest parent and run for the hills.

When the good Lord passed out the mothering gene’s I was getting an extra dose of snarky or something…I don’t know!

While setting up the Transformer Streamers and trying to stop the Godfather from molesting me in front of the few scattered children and my Godson’s Granny I started thinking about what I was doing when I was five. Yup I had a nostalgia moment. It could have been triggered by some rather depressing news I received Friday from the Male Nurse Friend or it could have been the party itself that sparked the memories but for what it’s worth here it is.

When I was five I was on top of the world, not literally but you’re sipping my kool-aid I know you are. I lived at the time in a northern Jersey suburb…a cul-de-sac nonetheless with grass as far as my eyes could see and that space was my world so it was only right to be the princess of the castle. The Little Brother was but 1 and hadn’t quite developed that bow-legged cowboy walk that was his signature for years to come. He later outgrew the bow legged stride without braces or breaking of bones suggested by those ~~Nazis~~ doctors. The Man Wander Married I think was on tour in Japan but I had sweet memories of him (God how time and age change things) whisking me into his arms with brown lunch bags full of shoe strings and mary janes and any type of candy you could think of.

Yup I remember those Cabbage Patch sheets with Rainbow Brite kitchen set days with a fondness. I recall them with an air of I could do anything with my lifeness and optimism that later became active cynicism. At five no one thinks about the sadness that sometimes happens in life. It’s a good thing. It’s actually a wonderful thing. I mean of course some folk have jacked up childhoods and they’re probably not as stress-free as my early adolescence. Of course what came later wasn’t all peaches and cream but I can say that those Rainbow Brite days were fantubulously great. And really it could be because without having an adult understanding of some situations makes life a little happier as a kid.

Take for instance that only about half the folk that should have showed for the party made an appearance. Do you think this fazed my Godson…not a chance he was stoked to see all his aunts, uncles, random cousins and open gifts. Now his parent’s totally different story in particular I believe Dapper Dan yelled at his sister and told her not to come since she was over 3hrs late for a party that was only slotted for 3 hours.

If you can add you realize Dapper Dan’s sister showed after the party was scheduled to end…of course she wasn’t the only offender…damn I hate colored folk time…with a serious passion.

Anywho back to the title of this here posting…to be five again would be nice and if I could go back there I would hug the Man Wander Married one last time because he was a true dad then and I would eat a brown lunch bag full of candy with reckless abandon for my teeth.

So blog friends, blog lurkers and my faithful blog readers what would you do if you were 5 again?

Weekend Update: Celebrate Good Times Come On...It's a Celebration

2009-09-22T12:47:00.008-04:00

Don’t let the happy title fool you; just kidding let the happy title fool you. While I didn’t get into any foolery this birthday thanks in large part to Juan who’s running quite nicely I might add I did have a pretty swell birthday.

It was way low key. My initial plans before Juan sucked up all my dinero were to go to NYC stay at the Marriott in Times Square, wake early on Friday morning and drag my still drunk/hung over friends to the Today show where I would parade my sign that said Happy 25th Birthday Faith… and in small print for the third time! Of course Al Roker couldn’t resist that sign and I would get my 1.5(not to be confused with 15) minutes of fame. It would be a cool thing to blog about as well, along with the whole shenanigans that took place in the city that never sleeps. It didn’t happen…there’s always next year.

Anywho the Best Friend tried to cheer me up by inviting me for a girls’ nite in (have you noticed a theme with her lately) at her place just a few of my chick friends and our love mates Vodka, Rum and Tequila. When I responded how depressing she said something like heifer I’m trying to help you out don’t get all uppity with me. Insert Nurse Friend who agreed that while we weren’t traveling to NYC we shouldn’t stay in tu casa. Clearly the Best Friend was out voted and we ended up at Ms. Tootsies eating soul food and listening to late 90’s and early 00’s hits.

Yes I is getting up there…90’s hits are actually considered oldies…when did this happen?

Ms. Tootsies, although kinda on the small side offered an ambiance I was with that night, real chill. I didn’t want to break all the rules and dance on tables, instead I wanted to sip libations, listen to subtle innuendo music and watch fantabulous folk decked in their weekend best. I put on a party dress and some get em girl pumps (not the original ones I wanted to wear they were off with the Little Brother and Juan writing rap songs God knows where) but enough of a heel to make me feel sexylicious.

Did I forget to mention that the bartender gave me a slice of chocolate cake special since I was the birthday girl…it was scrumptious and I thank him. Not to mention the free drinks…ah I heart birthdays!

And I guess feeling sexylicous showed because some random cop blew me a kiss. It was kinda odd and sweet/funny at the same time. Mr. Motorcycle drove down Nurse Friend’s car to give me his number so I guess that party dress and get em girl shoes were definitively working overtime. Not really into motorcycles but he is a serious cutie…will this be yet another pocketed number with no follow?

Oh and I must say thanks to Wander for spending Saturday with me. It was nice to get some face time with the Mombot. She seemed happier than usual….one wonders if the man she married has turned a leaf? She handed me a card from him along with a hearsay message that if I needed some help financially following Juan’s episode he was willing…interesting but no, I’d rather be broke.

When will he learn that money isn’t a substitution for dadhood.

On Sunday Nurse Friend and I came up with some new plans for New Years which involve Dapper Dan. Not sure how the Best Friend is going to take this news considering their on again/off again but mostly off again relationship. He’s still a DJ so we have to work the angles. Oh yes New Year’s party 2.0 is coming to a Westin near you…well not really near you unless you’re a Philly resident. And I promise I won’t get fumbling drunk this year….ok that’s half a promise!

Before I forget I want to say spank you very much to everyone who sent me e-mails FB messages, text messages wishing me a happy birthday. I felt all types of hearted and even shed a tear….I kid but I did feel all types of hearted.

Side note: I added music to the blog, is it annoying? Just wanna know peoples.

Week in Review: I Kid It's My Birthday So I Get a Freebie

2009-09-18T17:08:00.007-04:00

This video made my birthday pretty darn exciting considering how the car took me to the cleaners. I don't even wanna talk about it...no really I don't. Please look at this video and laugh viciously...I know I did. Seriously watch the whole minute and fifty four seconds please.

Weekly Rant: Dear Kanye West & Lil Mama…

2009-09-16T12:09:00.009-04:00

As you know my weekend went careening down the toilet after Juan’s little hiccup. No harm no foul he is back dragging me everywhere so I can’t talk about him too bad. And anywho this post ain’t about me…and yeah I’m late to the table with my VMA sum up but I has me a schedule around these parts and that’s the way I likes it. Without further ado…

Dear Kanye,

First let me be the 400th to say that you need a break, yes a serious break. I’m not talking about a celebraction where you sit on an island for a day to be photographed by the paparazzi you called to the secluded spot and can’t seem to understand how they found you, no not that kind of a break. Clearly as evidence by the crop circles etched in your hair you’ve lost touch with reality (and honestly I was concerned when you donned the old skool soul patch fro-hawk but you cleared that up). Now some might consider that creativity. I do not. I consider that a sign of mental unraveling. No worries it happens to us all at one time or another in our lives, hence my advice to you to grab hold of yourself and take a small hiatus from the lime light.

Second you need some real friends. Not talking about those nut jockeys who are along for the flash bulbs and left over 7 minutes of fame from simply smelling your cologne. (These fake friends could explain a bit of that Ego you’re carrying around weighing down your shoulders.) I’m talking about some real friends. What the Little Brother calls homies, dudes or chicks who say bro what the f*ck are you smoking? I know I know it sounds harsh but it’s oh so necessary. Remember not too long ago when Joaquin Phoenix decided he was gonna become a rapper, just think if he had real dudes beside him they would have pulled his coat tails and he would never ever have to relive this moment in his life. Amber Rose isn’t on her job. It doesn’t take much to put your arm out and just shake your head vehemently in the no motion.

Now clearly your behavior could’ve been brown juice influenced. The brown channels the ass within, seriously. No lie I’ve witnessed a few people get Henny-fied and almost lose their lives. Granted I thought it a touch ghettofab that you showed up on the red carpet Hennessey in the right and a chunk of Amber Rose hindparts in the left. Might I also add not a good look! And I so want not to like Ms. Rose but I do kinda dig her style. Now I wouldn’t show up to an awards’ show in a snake skin one piece, to each her own, but to her credit she didn’t have any bulge or camel toe so it was all good, I guess. She too was influenced by the brown as I watched her chug a taste when you passed the bottle. Try sober next time Sweetness.

For what it’s worth I actually like your music and think you’re really talented. But please do your mama proud take a much needed hiatus to mourn her passing and check back in less a$$hole. Clearly the combination of alcohol and your mammothly inflated ego can’t fit in one building.

With Genuine Concern,

Faith

Dear Lil Mama,

You’re border line mentally challenged aren’t you? This isn’t coming from a place of concern like my letter to Mr. West. You have a screw loose. First off at least you could have had on something other than your around the way clothes. I know this is the VMAs so no need to be shitty sharp (not like you were nominated or something) but for real jeans and a tank top, is that what it’s hitting for? But oh wait, I’ve seen you dressed to what you consider the 9s so maybe it was better that you played it way casual. In all honesty your stylist needs to take the long walk we give to over the hill pets, no offense.

Second you’re not a lady. Sorry it had to be said. No I’m not calling for a cootie check because I don’t mean it that way, what I’m saying is you have masculine mannerisms. I have trouble describing this but it’s all in the inflection of your voice and the way you hold your hands to the way you walk. I don’t know it’s like someone dunked you albeit briefly in a vat of testosterone, shook off the excess and put you in a skirt.

I’m getting off track.

Third and this is a question, were you trying to resurrect your “rapping” career. I mean it truly is on life support and it must be all types of hard not being one of the kool kids anymore…..in my small voice were you ever?

Lastly I am banishing you to the land of obscurity. You’re probably familiar already but still don’t come back until you can speak, dress and act all things lady-like. Ok Sugar Lump that’s all I got.

Shaking My Head in Utter Disgust,

Faith

And this is just a small note for all award shows going forward…get some real security this would never happen on my watch!

Weekend Update: This Must Be My Season To Suffer…

2009-09-14T16:02:00.004-04:00

Well Operation Happy Hour ended on a sour note Friday. It started out pretty decent minus the semi argument the Best Friend tried to pull me into (hanging up doesn’t make me mad it makes me laugh…are you serious I thought we were adults). Ending my conference call early made the happy birds sing and gave me time to swing past the salon to get my eyebrows arched. Believe me I was all kinds of elated because the eyebrows were all types of werewolf, scary (blame it on the frequent flyer miles)!

On my way to the salon Juan (this would be my car) started this little stutter step motion and all of a sudden the check engine light began flashing. That is never a good sign. In between semi annoying text messages from both the Little Brother and Best Friend I called the dealership to schedule the 4th appointment this year for the car. Now I know what some of you are thinking 4th this year….seems like Juan might need to be taken out to pasture. Well guess what….not gonna happen because I plan on riding Juan until he can’t put out no more. Yep I am gonna work him harder than a gold digger during all star weekend.

Sadly the dealership couldn’t take the car until Monday. I saw a wonderrific weekend go down in flames. It was very sad not to mention I totally missed out on some swanky eats from the Alfa Bar, a cozy little spot where I imagined I’d feast on a goat cheese number and sip a little white wine sangria for my mentor, Dr. Diva’s birthday celebration. Clearly Juan had other plans in mind. All of which entailed keeping the apartment company all weekend long, oh so boring and nerve wrecking at the same time.

Luckily the Best Friend agreed to drive on Friday night to the Mission Grill but she’s such an early bird not to mention our late start caused us to miss Tall & Busty tend bar during happy hour. We made it home by 10PM, not exactly my idea of a night out. A cute guy kept giving me the eye but I wasn’t in one of those close the deal moods. I brushed him off and kept it moving.

Saturday was uninspiring, spent most of the day looking at the walls, besides spending a few hours with Granny SJ and Wander. Remind me never to allow Wander to drive me anywhere ever again. Trust this woman doesn’t know cars reach speeds higher than 30mph. My night ended on the couch answering text messages from randoms.

By Sunday I was somewhat annoyed with the whole car-less-ness of it all. And really I was probably wallowing in a vat of self pity because I could’ve easily called friends to get out and about but I didn’t want to. I wanted to fester in the despair of the car fiasco plus going out equaled spending dinero better served in my wallet in order to pay for the upcoming car repair.

It got so bad I even contemplated walking to the laundry mat just to break the confines…sad I know laundry is the absolute worst!

When one of my managers called insisting I help with some last minute deliverables…although aggravated I did it because well it wasn’t like I had somewhere to go. By 9PM I ended up watching the whole MTV Video Music Award stuff and was actually mildly entertained. Kanye West (don’t worry I have a stern letter prepared for him on Wednesday) needs a friend, I mean someone played Where’s Waldo with his hair which didn’t seem to cause him any concern and he made a total a$$ out buffoon of himself stealing Taylor Swift’s 15 minutes of fame. Beyonce, always the PR queen, made up for this by snatching 15 back for dear sweet Taylor at the end. Did anyone else notice B predicted her win? During the pre-show they asked her what award of the 9 she was up for did she most want to win and without any hesitation she said video of the year…low and behold she wins video of the year, conspiracy…I think yes.

Side note: Fly Eagles Fly….E A G L E S….Eagles!!!!! You can tell I was bored can’t you?

Hopefully this whole trip to the dealership doesn’t cost an arm and a leg….

Week In Review: Not Much Going on Round These Parts, Take a Frigging Hint and I Want My iPhone!!!!

2009-09-11T13:13:00.002-04:00

Yeah so I summed it up in the title, there ain’t much happening captain. I did no traveling this week which actually was nice. I didn’t go into the office opting to work from the comforts of my jammies besides Tuesday. In actuality I decided to work from home more because Mailroom Boy worked my nerve on Tuesday and I just didn’t feel like having to be extremely rude to him. Sometimes I spare folks the roughness that can be my ‘tude, for this he should thank me.

Since I ain’t got much I should just spill how he worked that last nerve. Alright you all heard my little rant about missing the family bbq due to client work, well it spilled into this week and Diva no they didn’t save me a plate. (I am so un-hearted) Anywhosowhatsit, I’m furiously working on a client deliverable Tuesday morning, iPoding for focus really into a rhythm and didn’t need any frivolous interruptions. Even with Mailroom Boy’s looming appearance, the man is tall, I didn’t see him coming insert iPoding and client deliverable, I felt a presence. Damn it why the frig was he towering over my desk. I waved, flashed the 10 watt, continued to rock out to the dance grooves and put my head back into my work.

Did you catch my drift? I’m sure you did, I was busy…he didn’t because I still felt this mofo standing at my desk. WTF!!! Pause…deep breathe…no flipping allowed in the workplace! Pulled out the ear buds, flash a 5 watt and give the can I help you face, you know the one when the Jehovah’s knock on your door unexpected at 7 in the morning, yeah that face. He proceeds to go full on convo mode. Exsqueeze me? After not answering a question or two or three not out of rudeness but out of sheer I need to get this done-ness without any pointless interruptions he says something like, you’re not listening to me are you? Ding ding ding, you my friend deserve the gold star for intuitiveness….not! Moral to the story…work from home to avoid workplace interruptus.

Onto brighter pastures, or at least I thought. Since my actual birthday is coming ‘round the corner I decided to treat myself to an iPhone. Yeah I could wait another week and get one through work but with all those text message and application stipulations it just made more sense to get it myself. Alrighty then I played with the touch keyboard just to make sure I could get the whole swing of the no keys and to my surprise I got her done. Down side, you know my life there’s always a down side, AT&T and that whole 1 year policy for upgrades. Looks like I have to wait until next week anyway, story of my life really.

So TGIFriday...Happy Hour at the Mission Grill with the Best Friend, oh yeah she’s over that little grow up hooker comment. Not sure what the rest of the weekend will entail but single in the city is feeling all types of good right now.

Weekly Rant: Thoughts in Future Husband Minor….

2009-09-10T12:05:00.004-04:00

Side note: the title sounds a lot better when you insert Future Husband’s name but you know anonymity and all.

OK this deserves a little bit of a disclaimer. Blog Friends I am doing a little switch-a-roo here. Instead of my weekly rant I am going to hit you with a bit of poetry. This is an even deeper glimpse into my inner workings so enter at your own risk. Side note I am not a poet by nature but I dabble a bit, if you don’t like it don’t worry I will return to my regularly scheduled shenanigans tomorrow with the Week in Review.

This is the poem I wrote shortly after the final break up with Future Husband. Consider this growth or I’m just lazy and can’t find something to rant about right now, whatever floats your boat.

Thoughts in Future Husband Minor©

i met him with eyes
that spoke before mouths
had a chance to catch the words
and we were introduced
with window images of our past
helping to fuse a future that could not be.
i wanted to love him
with finger tips that graze lips
before they kiss
and tug on heart strings
creating a frenzied vibration
a pit-pat staccato rhythm
and we were singing
with voices that filled silent rooms
our own hip hop beat
that carried us nightly.
i wanted to know him…
with omniscience since inception
from a dad’s seed to a mom’s womb
from a babe’s feeble wobble to a man’s stride.
and we were walking
down uncharted paths with no directions
up hills and down valleys
looking for answers to questions we didn’t know we had
about each other and ourselves
about love and about life
posed to those who walked before us
but they were broken
disenchanted nomads hoping
from place to person
from person to place
on a journey with no path.
i wanted to write him
into the chapters of my life
so my book was a fairytale instead of a nightmare
so i’d kissed frogs and found a prince with a majestic stallion….
and we were searching
and we were reaching
and we were pushing
and we were pulling
and we were sewing
but there wasn’t enough thread to build our quilt
enough fabric to drape ourselves from the outside
it crept through the creases
unraveling our newly sewn pattern
splitting the ends almost to the beginnings
so we were left, where we started…
an unfinished masterpiece that never was
i met him with eyes…eyes with him met i

Weekend Update: Model Friend Comes to Town, Ruined Holidays and a Trip Down Ex Lane….

2009-09-08T15:59:00.005-04:00

If the powers that be are out there in the cyberspace listening to me rant, work sucks (I kid I kid, because momma needs her paycheck). But really work is getting to be the bane of my existence as of late (explains the week long hiatus from blogging). Not that I don’t appreciate some of the perks, frequent flyer miles and hotel points but what I don’t like, oh man what I don’t like is the complete and total interruption of my life for all things work inspired. All of Sunday and I do mean all (16 non sleep + some early Monday hours) were devoted to work!

Additionally I think Work is contributing to my all to frequent housemate Insomnia, but I could be wrong.

Yes yes I know I am a corporate ladder striver, but I am also a red blooded American chick who likes to kick off her work heels in exchange for a pair of get em girl pumps and hit the town. OK OK in Work’s defense I did have a hella good time Friday and Saturday night (thank you Vodka you always know how to make a night right) which could explain how Work kidnapped me Sunday and ruined my plan to attend the family bbq but alas, I need a rant and this here is gonna be one whether Work likes it or not.

Dramaticals…anywho I should have saved that business trip to LA for some other time considering that Model Friend came home for the Labor Day weekend (not like I really had a choice). As a result there was no tear-less, I miss you so much hug-fess (I am not a hugger by nature it really does take a lot out of me to conjure up a good one) because I’d just seen her the prior week. Of course Male Nurse Friend showed his entire a$$, this is really to be expected it’s just the kind of hand-job (excuse the vulgarities but he pissed me off this weekend) he is sometimes, and didn’t show for any of the welcome home Model Friend festivities. Of which were very few because well her trip home was about la familia, totally understandable. As the dorks we are we decided an early night bowling match and possibly a drink to say welcome home nice to see you have fun with the ‘rents yada yada yada.

Nurse Friend tagged along since well she and Model Friend get a long pretty well and I was on the outs again with the Best Friend for reasons unknown and well Nurse Friend is fun minus and we work well as wing women for each other, nuff said. Model Friend brought along her Equally Model Sister and for some reason bowling morphed into dinner when everyone realized we all skipped trying to make the 9:30ish deadline. Dinner was better because my stomach was rubbing my back by the time everyone arrived.

We ended the night at some in the courtyard type hide-out club in Northern Liberties (hipster up & coming neighborhood in Philadelphia) called PYT (Pretty young thangs, repeat after me I said Na Na Na, Na Na Na…I'll Take You There….oops digression). What I enjoyed most about this out the basement turned through the bathroom backdoor club was the DJ. Alllls yeah he played some pretty good blended music. When I say blended I mean a mix of the hip hop oldies but goodies and new school body rockers that had me and my friends on the dance floor shaking but not breaking what our momma’s gave us.

Side note both songs are equally dumb but a fun not gonna hurt no body dance song makes me smile regardless of my mood. I loves me some muzak therapy!

In any event that night Nurse Friend and I decided to meet up Saturday for service (I am not a Seven Day Adventist I am pray fo Jesus Baptist born and bred however my church offers multiple services so everyone can attend regardless the work schedule.) I personally prefer Saturday because it doesn’t involve the tomfoolery of gotta wear your best fo da lawd tomfoolery of Sunday. The message was on point and all was is well with my soul, which happened to be the hymn and one of my personal faves.

For whatever the reason we decided after service no doubt….did I mention the scruptilciousness of the security guard as we entered the house of the Lord (someone pray for me), to get some drinks. You know nothing like praying your demons away and chasing them down with Vodka. We ended up at Mixto some little Cubano/Colombiano spot in Center City where the waiter commented on the absolute perfection of my Spanish. Ah muchas gracias guapo que la práctica de vez en cuando or many thanks handsome I practice every once and a while. He wasn’t guapo but I can be a bit of a flirt or so I’m told. In any event we left there after some tasty drinks to a watering hole near UPENN’s campus called the Marbar. In deed Nurse Friend was correct. As the night wore on despite the alcohol the prospects grew shorter and uglier. Normally under the guidance of Vodka this wouldn’t be the case but ugly is definitely to the bone.

Sunday, as we know was monopolized by tons of work that I desperately needed to complete for the client by Tuesday. No thanks to my LA manager in answering my SOS e-mails begging for an extension given the IT problems I’d been plagued with for two weeks. My requests clearly fell on deaf ears. I finished the work thankfully by 5AM Monday morning but ended up missing the family bbq, grumpy tomato I think yes. The highlight or lowlight of Sunday whatever you wanna call it being accosted in the drive thru window of my local McStrokes by a cutie. This is not a good look friend…I am mangled looking like petrified WTF because I was trapped in my bat cave all damn day why in the good Lord’s name did this cute guy want my number, conclusion he must have issues. I did the double O fake out and told him to give me his instead.

Why do I take guys’ numbers that I have absolutely no intentions on calling?

When I woke Monday afternoon yes I said afternoon I loafed around the apartment doing absolutely nothing besides watching the Golden Girls marathon. It felt good for about three hours before I became restless and felt the hunger monkeys craving a greasy slice of Lorenzo’s pizza from this place on South Street. I dodged an invite from Mailroom Boy just didn’t feel like driving to his part of town plus he mentioned something about hanging with his daughter (not my preferred cup of tea) so I ended up on South Street picking up a slice. After waving hi and bye to Mr. Bengali, he still works selling clothing at a store on that strip, and taking the mental note damn he’s still hella sexy and without a doubt one of the smartest(which is sexier) men I’ve ever dated …but sadly plagued by circumstance (a little something called citizenship).

Seeing Mr. Bengali made me think of my lucky shirt and the reasons surrounding our break-up (age difference among other things). No sense in dwelling on the past, what shall be shall be but the man is hella smart and fantabulously gorgeous….hmmm rose quartz or libido…the juries out on that one!

Week in Review: Like Old Times with Model Friend, I Hate the Red Eye and Sidityness Reigns Supreme…

2009-08-28T13:23:00.006-04:00

This is gonna be a little lengthy folks, so buckle up and enjoy the ride.

May I start with saying that it was all types of great to see Model Friend! She looked the same, had the same gross so unladylike behavior (Including but not limited to her telling me she thought her pits were a little skanky. Why 90% of the male population finds her attractive baffling, I kid.) and it was fantabulous. Albeit very short lived given my two day jaunt in the sunny California weather but a nice treat between business meetings. She took me to a hella sweet Thai place where I ordered some flat noodle seafood vegetable contraption that I can’t pronounce, shrimp tempura and tasted some of her yellow curry chicken. Did I mention scrumptilicious! The leftovers we sent to her future husband for final consumption, he appreciated this

Great eats and great company make for a great night even with the slight jet-lag. Insert I’ve been on a lot of planes in the past few days right, this is rhetorical.

We hashed about He Who Must Not Be Named, evidently I forgot to tell her all the dramaticals. I tire of telling the tale. Anywho I spilled and she listened and then of course gave me the sistah girl oh no he didn’t face when I told her he called from the foreign number to get me to answer. As a true friend she did ask if I’m alright and I told her I’m fine, which is true it’s water under the bridge now.

And shocking news to her, not you faithful readers, that I’ve sorta been seeing Mailroom Boy. She gave me the side-eye for not telling her sooner.

Model Friend: Have you sexed him?
Me: Hell no! Just can’t picture it in real life. (No need to go into the dream sequence but as many have pointed out what happens in your subconscious is not indicative of what you want or desire to happen in the flesh.)
Model Friend: That’s a strong no…why can’t you go there?
Me: I don’t know.
Model Friend: Well you better figure it out soon because you already set the date kiss expectation and you know what that leads to.
Me: Maybe I should test it out right…
Model Friend: Uh yeah…NO!

We both laugh and change the topic. A little later I share a little morsel, part of the reason I presume why I can’t go there with him. Now underneath my killer drive to scale the corporate ladder, there is a part of me that wants the picket fence and what comes along with that little girl fantasy. But and it’s a big but Mailroom Boy already has half of that fantasy.

Let me explain. There’s something to be said, in my humble opinion and maybe this makes me slightly old fashioned, about sharing firsts with your husband, in particular buying a joint home, having children or hell even trivial stuff like sky diving, whatever. I don’t know I could be wrong I’ve never been married. Granted I don’t want children but as I told Model Friend I am completely willing to sacrifice that major lack of a want for a husband. And in that case if I were to go against my own grain I want my greatest sacrifice to be his first child, point blank period. On that I can make no concession. And because of this I may be very single for a very long time to come. In Mailroom Boy’s case he already has a 7 year old daughter, cute kid, not mine.

Model Friend says that I over-think everything. She asked why I was putting this much thought into one a guy when he’s probably not putting that much thought into me outside of do I like her don’t I like. I didn’t have an answer that night besides I thought she was right. On my wonderific (that is sarcasm) flight back to Philadelphia, the late night red eye from LAX I had time to really think about our conversation.

Seriously a lot of time to think considering the woman screaming behind me in Cambodian at her unruly children kicking my seat for 5+ hours not to mention I couldn’t even get a blanket because they were sold out. The flight attendants said something to her multiple times and her oldest son, he was seated across the aisle sort of translated. My assumption is she didn’t speak English at all but you don’t have to understand or speak English to know that at 1AM in the morning your kids should be sleep and you shouldn’t be yelling. You know putting your finger to your lips and mouthing shhhhhssshhh is universal, at least I thought so. Either way I could still hear and feel the commotion with iPod so I had a lot of time to think, my favorite pastime. Please excuse the digression.

It really wasn’t thought I was putting into Mailroom Boy per se as much as it was thought about what I want out of my life (Quarter-Life Crisis Anyone). True life isn’t an equation and love isn’t the X, to solve for. But at the end of the day I can’t be anyone but me, a person more driven by logical analysis than overrun by emotion. Minus two of course, I put my faith and emotions in two men in this young life. One of the two failed miserably shaping the Faith I am today. The other, Future Husband will be forever the one who got away and maybe because of that I am destined to see-saw through men who never quite meet the bar. Our lives, Future Husband and I, were in two very different places at the time and I wasn’t ready to share his path, end of story (sort of there’s a lot more but this post is already past my normal length). Settling just doesn’t seem like the appropriate option.

Anywho, Model Friend said that I need to accept my sidity, she may be on to something. My absolute number one pet peeve is lacking motivation. From what I know of Mailroom Boy he seems completely OK with his situation which I can’t stomach. And for him maybe it’s not a situation. I on the other hand see it very much as one. I asked him about his job and he told me that he took his current position because it’s easy and he can get away with doing whatever he wants which is normally nothing. Although recently he said he thinks he needs a career since turning 33 it’s about time. Interesting, but as Granny SJ says the proof is in the pudding. He is very unaggressive about his future, I don’t like that. I want someone who’s future oriented while I do live in the now I also plan for tomorrow. Someone with a similar theme is necessary or I will be a grumpy tomato.

OK I’ve already shared the child thing and how I feel about it so there’s no need to harp on the issues I see here. Not to mention that I don’t appreciate how he downs his daughter’s mother. As I’ve explained to him before his daughter’s mother is a reflection of him, he chose her. She didn’t impregnate herself, I make no concessions here and will not stand for the bad mouthing because I don’t know the woman and his side of the situation is just that, his side of the story. I asked him if she trapped him, he said no; well zip your lips then.

And this is just me being very sidity I know but it is what it is, I don’t want to be responsible for driving “us” everywhere or housing “us” if it’s late and we need somewhere to stay. I am not a teenager and don’t believe in the keep it quiet while my mom is sleep rule. Granted I have a roommate but at any moment I can kick my brother out and live alone, he doesn’t have that option since he lives in his Aunt’s home. You can’t make rules when it’s not yours. And I presume this wouldn’t bother me so much if he could at least pick me up. I drive for work I don’t want to have to drive for play all the time.

This also got under my skin on the night we went to the diner but I didn’t let it show because I don’t wave my money in anyone’s face (not that I have money because I feel the crunch of the recession like everyone else). When we’ve actually gone out in the past I’ve always offered to go dutch because I don’t want him to think I’m some gold digger, not that it would really apply in this situation. He’s never taken me up on my offer. Anywho our diner bill was a measly 14 bucks, I repeat 14 bucks…his card was declined. No no no! I’m not upset about paying the bill, I am curious about his financial responsibility though.

OK you guys can tell me how unreasonable and flakey and whatever I am being but at the end of the day I feel women seek men who make them feel secure. I feel not one ounce of security with Mailroom Boy. On a positive note, he’s sweet as pie, an absolute gentleman, can talk to him for hours without tiring and he makes me laugh…there’s something to be said for all of those things!

PS. The Little Brother said, “Damn dude need to get his shit right yah mean!”

Oh and he doesn’t like dogs….WTF?????

P.S.S I didn’t have to go to upstate Jersey today, I am all types of happy because Insomnia is back in full effect. Kick rocks Insomnia for real.

Weekend Update: Booking Travel, Stupid Rainy Nights and Late Nights at the Diner with Mailroom Boy

2009-08-25T17:53:00.006-04:00

This is the actual diner at night.

So I am getting back into the groove of things. There’s but so much vacation in my blood folks. Mid-way through the week I fully logged back into work. Shoot me I am work-a-holic….some days. It could also have a lot to do with the friggin horrible weather I came home to. Thanks again Mother Nature I owe you one.

During the vacation I received word that upon return I would be hopping a flight or two to LA. Now under normal circumstances this would have been quite arse nibbling but as we know one of my bestest friends in this wide world, Model Friend, moved to the left coast. This “busines trip” provided the perfecto opportunity to catch up. Even with the Facebooking and Twittering updates of it all it still feels different that she’s not here. Which reminds me, I so need to turn my FB status updates off because getting Model Friend’s messages at 3AM on a work night aren’t all that fun anymore. Not that we spent every waking minute together because we didn’t but it was nice to know if I needed a sounding board I didn’t have a 3hr time difference to calculate.

Nurse Friend says I’m not allowed to cry when I leave Model Friend to board the plane back home. Nursie-poo-poo forgets I’m as tough as nails and crying is for babies and men who win championships, of which I am neither.

Anyway before returning from South Beach Nurse Friend and I decided we were going to this Black ‘n’ White party at the Double Tree on Saturday night. With any party, doors open for new shoes or a new dress or both. In this instance I had some fresh never worn get him girl pumps lying in wait ready to pounce out the box so I decided that a new dress would suffice. A trip to Urban Outfitters proved useful as I was able to pick up a cutabulous little number on Thursday. Jumping slightly ahead for the sake of time we never made it to the party due in very large part to the tsunami like conditions afflicting Saturday night in the tri-state. Again, Mother Nature giving me her ass to kiss, she should consider this post flipping her off in blog form. We are no longer on speaking terms!

Anywho let’s backtrack a taste. On Friday night The Best Friend asked if we could meet up for yet another girl’s night in. Uh sorry NO! Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy a little men suck every once and again just like the next muchacha unfortunately my body was craving some male attention and my wallet was screaming empty. Shoot me, we’re in a recession!

Somehow or another I ended up, late night on my way to display my fantabulous amateur bowling skills to Mailroom Boy. Unfortunately by the time we made it to the lanes they weren’t setting up any more games instead we grabbed a drink at the bar. A drink that was wasted as I watched the bartender wet his hair and slick it back with his hands sans gloves. Yeah major germ-o-phobe moment as I imagined his nasty greasy wet follicles floating in my Vodka with a splash of pineapple. Heartbreaking and it was too late to complain to management.

Yes I’m that girl when it comes to personal hygiene type things.

It was too early to call it an evening so we went to a diner to grab a late night snack. I opted for a piece of butter cream cake, which was all types of scrumptilicious I don’t remember what Mailroom Boy had besides a cup of tea, he claims he was cold providing a passable excuse for resting half his lanky body under mine. He was just on the edge of uncomfortable close but I let it go. We talked for what seemed like hours and really were hours, did I ever mention that the boy can talk. By the time I got home it was 4:30AM.

Mailroom Boy sent a great night as always text and have a safe flight which I thought was very cutesy. He told me he would miss me….I hope this guy doesn’t like me too much as I don’t see this ending in a positive light. My feelings toward him are very torn.

I sense snobbish tendencies creeping back up my spine…

One thing I did learn from The Man Wander Married, you should never sh*t where you eat! His words not mine, not that he followed them but then again he also said don’t do what I do, do what I say. Words to live by….I give great advice but have a hella hard time following it.

Maybe a slight dating hiatus to clear my mind is in order…so much for the Rose Quartz.

Week In Review AKA Vacation Review: Guess Who’s Bizzack and Picking Up Some Rose Quartz

2009-08-20T14:21:00.006-04:00

Arriving back home from vacation is bittersweet. Miami bronzed my skin and relaxed my mood like no one else could. The beach was amazing and the rooftop pool at the Marriott gets two thumbs up! Mother Nature even stopped rearing her ugly head and provided some stupenderful weather days for the trip. For that I must give her a virtual high five.

Of course she did get me back by way of sunburn. Yep don’t re-read that last line I am all types of sun burnt along my back, the midgets not to mention my rudolf (aka nose) is looking a bit flakey as well. It wouldn’t be that bad if my skin didn’t feel like rawhide and look like I’d been whipped for stealing. It’s a small price to pay. Additionally my hair….baaaaabyyyyy! Chile my hair is all types of Celie from the Color Purple….ok that’s dramaticals but the silky silky is curly curly. I had to let the natural curl out the box…I think some people were shocked to see it. Hell I shocked myself but I couldn’t help it after a couple of dips in the pool and a sprint in the ocean I let go of a long time hang up. Don’t worry the silky silky will be back Friday.

If I never see another speedo it will be too soon. Kidding most of the gents walking the sand in nut munchers were in great shape a la Michael Phelps. Of course the steroid freaks whose arses swallow the tiny shorts don’t look all that great to me but to each his own really. And on a side note…much much prettier women than attractive men, no lesbo.

And a quick question to the lovely folks of South Beach, does everyone drive a fantabulous cars??? I mean seriously my friends and I were eating breakfast at Jerry’s Deli on 14th and Ocean and watched a lineup; Bently, Lambo and Rolls Royce. WTH, a little jealous…maybe!

Good drinks and late nights that’s how I would describe the trip. Of course Nurse Friend found out that at any random moment I break into song. She listened to my crazy rendition of Rihanna’s Please Don’t Stop the Music and La Cucaracha. Nurse Friend was only impressed with Rihanna, somehow La Cucaracha wasn’t a big hit. In addition she said I’m addicted to bathing. I believe I took at least three showers per day…whatever I like to be clean! Nurse Friend swears that no one showers before going to the pool, this is news to me. I called her dirty just joking of course.

Before we left I had to make sure to pick up a magnet for Granny SJ. It’s a sort of running tradition that every time I go to a new city I bring back a magnet for Granny SJ’s fridge. Anywho while shopping we ended up in this store called 9th Chakra. Now I am not into the mystical crystal thing because well I believe in Jesus. I don’t mean that to be demeaning or religiously superior, whatever makes your boat float, row but I give my problems to the Lord. But anyway while in the store I was drawn to this one stone, Rose Quartz. I was surprised to see this stone is associated with my astrological sign, Virgo.

Rose Quartz: Stone of Love and Relationships. Brings about nurturing and kindness, heals the heart and helps develop unconditional love. Soul mate finder.

This I find to be very interesting considering my home life recently. I smiled and purchased a pocket version of the stone. I don’t know why but I did it against my better judgment. What harm could it do really…which brings me back to the bitterness of returning home. I have to face the reality of my personal life which I escaped just briefly in Miami.

As I mentioned He Who Must Not Be Named called shortly before the vacation to tell me that he missed me, he was sorry he didn’t mention the whole wife situation and oh yeah his cousin died the day of the wedding (fell off the roof or some such nonsense…if he was getting married why the frig would he be on a roof?). Of all of these things the one I most believe, he misses me. I have no faith in him! I presume a full adult conversation putting all the cards on the table is due besides the whole don’t f*cking call me again!

Oh should I add that I ran into 21 Jump Street’s live in friend/girlfriend on the plane back to Philly. Story of my life I guess. Don’t worry we didn’t have a Housewives of Atlanta moment- she doesn’t even know who I am and not about to go there because there’s no reason for it. No use upsetting her monkey cart, his deceit will come to a head.

Small note I did kinda miss Mailroom Boy while I was away, thought about him a lot some good some not so good….what does that mean peoples?????

Week in Review: Unexpected Phone Calls, Lingering Doubts and Not So Friendly Skies

2009-08-15T15:37:00.004-04:00

This post will be short and sweet because I’m on vacation and well that’s just it. If you don’t like it lump it.

Why did the Spaniard call me from an unrecognizable number?

Why did I answer and not hang up?

Why did he tell me he missed me and that his cousin died before the wedding, fell off the roof the day of the ceremony (I told him I didn’t believe him)?

Why do I sort of miss him?

Why am I mad at myself for feeling this way?

Why do emotions betray logic?

Why did the TSA worker make my morning by hitting on me when I was wearing a scarf (he was cute & the vacation is starting right)?

Why did the Russian Mafia chicks on the plane refuse to turn off their cell phones?

Why did Chunky Baby’s Mom have to ask the Russian Mafia Chicks on the plane to turn off their cell phone shortly before take off?

Why did half of the Russian Mafia chick lean her frigging chair all the way back while I was trying to finish work (oh yeah I was still doing work while officially off the clock)?

Why did Fat Dude near the window begin sending text messages mid flight (clearly he missed the memo)?

Why was Chunky Baby making swoon eyes at me all flight (he has baby rolls so cute)?

Why did London Badunkadunk put her arse in my face…granted she didn’t do it purposely but still spandex-ed ass isn’t what I want to see when I turn my face?

Why did London Badunkadunk’s Husband get a serious feel on mid flight that I caught out of my peripherals, ugh…this could be jealousy…not because I wanted him to feel me up but because it must be cute to be married for what 10+ years and still have a hubby that wants to cop a feel regardless of who sees?

Why did we hit turbulence shortly before landing and why did Random First Class Chick decide that was the best time to use the ladies room?

Why didn’t any of the flight attendants stop Random First Class Chick…could it be the first class status because we coachers were told to stay seated the plane was landing?

Weekly Rant: A Letter to Mother Nature

2009-08-12T13:47:00.004-04:00

So there are some things I need to get off my chest.

Dear Mother Nature,

This I’m sure comes as no surprise, you’re a biotych. Sorry that’s probably not the best way to start a greeting but it is what it is.

Riding the crimson wave are we?.

I slave hours at work in the actual office even giving up some of my personal home time during wonderfully cloudless rainless days. The moment I attempt to steal my life back you decide to act all types of shifty. It’s really not appreciated. If you have a manager I would like to speak with him/her.

Understandably we can’t have blue skies every day of the week. Honestly I’m not even asking for that because it doesn’t always suit my mood. What I am requesting cut me some freaking slack on my vacation. WTH! You’ve known about these plans for months now and this I know because you and the Man Upstairs share similar living spaces so this didn’t blind side you in any way. You were given advance notice and should have planned your Weather Forecast accordingly.

Granted you treated me to stupenderful weather during my staycation which I would gladly swap for my actual leaving town vacation to Miami. For that I guess I should say thanks, however I’m not. What I wanted was you know fun in the sun, which doesn’t look like it will happen. Luckily your panties aren’t so far up your arse that you called Ms. Hurricane. If so this letter would be much nastier. At the same time it’s not unlike you to stoop to the lower levels of bioytch-ness and pull Mr. Tropical Storm out of your hat. Trust I have my eye on you.

Not sure where your customer’s relations department is but when I find it believe me this will get mailed.

Oh and I’d also like to thank you for the flying courtesy. Yeah thank s a whole effing lot. It wasn’t bad enough you invited Rain to my party (literally) now you’re also thinking about Thunder Storm as well. Come now what have I ever done to you? Ok I littered but that was in my past. I’m definitely on the going green wagon these days. My car is almost hybrid…well not really but its fuel efficient.

And lastly I would like to throw up in your punch for what you’re doing to my hair. Oh yeah don’t think I forgot. You stole the loveliness that is my locks. And yeah it hurt my feelings…a lot. Your cousin, Rain hijacked my luster and that wench Humidity I can’t even begin to talk about what that hooker did. Just know that if I catch either one of them in the street, it won’t be pretty. And that’s not a threat it’s a promise!

Regards,

Weekend Update: Roller Coasters, Driving Tests and More Broken Promises…

2009-08-10T16:37:00.007-04:00

This is a picture of the El Toro

This weekend was way low key compared to the drama of last weekend.

After slapping the guilt on thick The Little Brother and Sister “convinced” me to go to Six Flags Great Adventures. I hadn’t been in years and honestly there was no thrill in me to go again. I know I probably sound like a humbug (if this were Christmas) but I just had no desire to walk the crowded park, pay ridonkulous amounts of money for subpar food and wait in endless lines for a 5 second thrill. Even with that feeling welled in the pit of my stomach I threw on my best amusement park outfit, donned a half hearted smile and drove the distance.

I would like to thank Google Maps for getting me lost in some podunk town on the outskirts of Trenton. Luckily the Whatevertown Police provided much needed assistance and renewed my dampening faith in police officers in general (that would be the bright side). Even with being a half hour or so out of the way, credit no doubt to janky directions, again many thanks Google Maps, we landed at the park just 15-30 minutes after opening with empty Coke cans in hand.

If you bring Coke cans during the week you get a bogo (buy one get one free) which is all types of wonderiffic because those friggin tickets cost $55 bucks a pop for adults and $25 for tots.

Once inside The Little Brother, Sister and Roller Coaster Partner (The Little Sister’s friend) bee-lined it to the flash-pass line to see how much additional it would cost to avoid the endless lines at the coasters. After thinking it over deciding $33 bucks a piece to avoid lines wasn’t the best deal we headed into the park. Completely unexpected, I had a ball. We rode every coaster the park employed besides the ones that had taken a siesta for the day. Absolute favorite and the only one that got a scream out of me, El Toro…I do have a thing for all things Spanish.

Roller Coaster Partner swears while riding The Bull I said something like shut the f*ck up but honestly that doesn’t sound like me. Although I can’t take full responsibility for the words that come out of my mouth during fits of sheer fear. Sorry but I can’t.

We left the park close to quitting time tired but happy. On Saturday morning I woke early to take The Little Brother to treatment and take the Little Sister for her driving test. Fortunately for what’s left of my blood pressure and my sanity she passed. I couldn’t watch, too anxious as if I were sweaty palmed behind the wheel as some random person decided my driving fate. Somewhere in the back of the Little Sister’s mind she probably thinks this means she will have unfettered access to my car, it does not.

Later in the day I had plans with Mailroom Boy at the State Park. Unfortunately my stylist (as to be expected really) was beyond booked. To make a long story way short I didn’t leave the shop until 6:30PM which wouldn’t have been that bad if I didn’t actually want to go and see what the State Park bbq was talking about (that’s slang for see if the party was good, carry on). Not to mention Mailroom Boy is going to start to think I’m a bit of a flake as I continue to make and break dates with him. He said not to worry about it. After leaving the salon I headed back to my mom’s house to pick up my sister and speed racer over to the nail salon. By the time I got home it was close to 9:30PM and I hadn’t actually done anything remotely fun but I was damn drained. As I toyed with the idea of going out that night I fell asleep and didn’t wake up until Sunday morning.

Even with a 30pt handicap we demolished the other team and remain number one. OK we won the last two games of a three game series and this included them bringing a ringer. I bowled pretty poorly in all honesty thank goodness for teamwork. My mind was in too many places to fully concentrate on bowling. Mailroom Boy invited me out later than night to “celebrate” both our bowling victories which I initially accepted forgetting about my True Blood obsession. I called later that evening and cancelled. Are you seeing a pattern?

In any event I had a seriously scandalicious dream about Mailroom Boy….what is my subconscious trying to tell me? Although True Blood is rather sexually explicit so I like to think my mind was simply combining the last thing I saw with the last man I spoke with that night….are you buying that?

Week in Review: Surprise Me With More of the Same…..

2009-08-09T14:25:00.005-04:00

As predicted work dwindled by Monday, which means my billable hours went down to next to nothing. Great wonderfuckingful that’s exactly what I didn’t need heading into a semi lengthy vacation. In any event I go over the details with my counselor/manager (she acts as though she doesn’t know but I know she does) who says that I need to work on expanding my internal network. Ugh ugh ugh, this wouldn’t be so bad if I actually liked the people I worked with or didn’t think they were full of shit.

Every time I meet a new consultant they are well, more of the same. Phony as a $2 bill and will try to sell you the shoes on your feet, all that the same time, its consultant multi-tasking at its absolute best. Don’t get me wrong. I appreciate having a job every morning I wake and can shower, slip into my pjs and work from the comfort of my bed. No complaints there….most days but I also didn’t saddle myself in college debt to play the who’s the most popular game instead of who’s the best suited for the job. Consulting is very much high school in pantsuits and snazzy skirt blouse ensembles, don’t worry I have the wardrobe down to a T.

In any event my year end review was more of the same, the fake consultant-ese that irks the piss out of me. My counselor sets up a meeting that was interrupted by multiple phone calls, asks if I read the review she sent the night before (because work is really a 24hr type of thing) and if I have any questions. About the form, no not really I comprehend English very well. What about the direction you want to take with the company? She doesn’t want my real answer. Everything is ice cream cones and popsicles, at least that’s what I told her…not in those words of course I did mention that I don’t see where I fit with this type of work really, you know me being on the flip side of liar and not really interested in selling folks concepts or programs or products they could do without. She overlooks that comment and focuses on the ice cream cones and popsicles. This was to be expected but I had to at least throw the bone. She didn’t fetch.

Sometime during the review I mutter (under my breath) kick rocks bioytch just so I felt like I expressed some of my true feelings. None the wiser, given the multiple phone calls answered and who knows how many e-mails, some even to me. Then she hit me with the due to the horrendeful year everyone’s had pretty much no one is getting a raise. Not unexpected in the least. And ended with this nugget, you’re doing an awesome job everyone sees that please look at the opportunities not as criticism but as real opportunities for you to become the best consultant you can be. Deconsultantify, keep doing what I’m doing so I can one day wake up a car salesman in a pricier suit…uh maybe not so much!

On a more interesting note and little less of the same, Mailroom Boy mentioned he should find a career. Hmmmm, I believe this epiphany is about 10-12yrs late but as they say better late than never. This is not me judging. I mean honestly I am in a “career” but still wake up with the feeling of what the frig should I do with my life hence this quarter-life crisis. And when I think about it, it’s easier to dip out of the mailroom than it is to dip out of insurance consulting. This is a crony network not only do I work with internal folks we serve tons of clients and an AWOL type of bail out smears your reputation. Reputation trumps all so the departure must reek of pc-ness. All sides must agree, and if I leave for an insurance company I have to sign a confidentiality statement.

Why not ask for my first born it might be less painful.

However my ears did perk up when Mailroom Boy said this. It demonstrates some potential but I won’t let my panties drop for a spark he needs to create a full blown flame. His statement falls into the I will believe it when I see it category…my trust levels are running on empty these days. In true friend fashion I told him anything that he puts his mind to I have faith (no pun intended) he can achieve. And that statement wasn’t laced with consultant bullshit either.

Anywho Mailroom Boy invited me to a nearby state park this weekend for a bbq…sounds like fun.

Weekly Rant: MSM (Men Sleeping with Men)…but not Gay?!?!?!?!?!?

2009-08-06T14:49:00.006-04:00

Granted there are a lot of concepts that I just don’t understand. I don’t proclaim to be any type of molecular scientist or Einstein freak of nature genius but on average I get most things. MSM or men sleeping with men, but not gay, I just don’t get….on any level.

Let me preface this post with a small disclaimer: I am in no way homophobic or mean this to demean, taunt or otherwise offend any members of the gay, lesbian, bi or transgendered community (which probably means I will but I truly do not). I heart gay peoples like I heart straight folks. Besides some of my best friends are either gay or bi curious.

The other day I ran across this post that discussed the “phenomena” of men sleeping with men but aren’t gay similar to semester lesbians with one caveat. A semester lesbian is a girl who dated or had sex with other chicks during college, grad or high school (whatever your form of higher ed) but in her adult life is straight and only dates men. (I don’t buy this either but again I never was lesbian for a semester so this could be yet another bean to throw into the jar of things I don’t understand). However a MSM continues a sexual relationship with men for life.

It matters not to me about the category. A bird by another name is still a bird. I can call it a hog but at the end of the day if it picks up and flies away it’s a flying hog….I kid I kid, it’s a bird. You get my drift.

In an event, society places a stigma on those who self identify as gay, lesbian, bi or transgendered. Because of this I do understand the defense mechanism to cloak and morph into Mr. or Mrs. What Society Wants. But doesn’t that get old? Don’t you want to just unfasten society’s button exhale and let it all hang out? Maybe not but in my experience lies weigh heavy.

Not to mention and sorry this is my opinion if you’re attracted to men sexually and you’re a man…ding ding ding that’s the definition of gay and the same goes for women. I’m sorry about the category it might make your panties ride but it is what it is. And I don’t subscribe to that age old double standard that women can lick it up with another chick toss the pictures in a box of memories and say oh remember in 1999 when I was lesbian. Sexuality unlike hair color doesn’t wash or grow away with time. Or at least it doesn’t how I understand it. If I can grow out of my sexual attraction to men I would like to do that at age 99 or so you know because I love me some him…I mean I’m just saying if there’s a choice in the matter.

Besides I have enough cleave for two people already I don’t need any other nipples joining the party.

This is not to say that there’s anything wrong with being a lesbian. Whatever floats your boat row. I will admit I don’t quite understand why women who identify as lesbian date butch women who look like men…I mean seriously you’re missing out on the most fun part of that there male type situation if you get my drift. But alas if it makes you happy keep on chucking.

My one issue and yes I admit it is an issue with this MSM thing, the deceit. Most well let me not say most but a lot of these gents are married or in committed relationships with women, major no no. In particular because their female counterparts are out of the loop and have no clue about their hombre’s extracurricular activities. Such a web we weave. If you’re engaging in sexual relations with other men for whatever reason, ~~out right denial of being gay~~ just for fun or a physical release I think you have an obligation to let your wife, girlfriend and/or significant other know. Just because you don’t think you’re gay or bi or whatever doesn’t mean you’re not and you should give your wife, girlfriend and/or significant other the option of being involved in your lifestyle (for lack of a better word).

Granted you might lose a girlfriend or two but isn’t it better to live your life as you truly are. Not to mention that having multiple sexual partners lends itself to double the STD fun. And not to beat a dead horse but anal and oral sex are the riskiest forms of sexual contact. I’m not pointing any fingers and we should all be safe sexual beings but uh when you’re lying to your strictly monogamous girlfriend about banging Harry from down the block during ~~the all male review~~ poker night you are putting her in a rather compromising situation emotionally along with risking her life. And that’s not cool.

So while you’re happy dipping Harry, which is totally your right, you’re playing Russian roulette with ole Faithfull’s life and could very well psychologically destroy her (you know I have a flare for the dramatics). I heard from a friend of friend (granted this could have been drunk girl talk or urban legend) of a girl walking in on her boyfriend bent over a couch by his ~~closet~~ closest buddy…long story short she took a trip to the local psyche ward and he took a trip to the hospital. Sometimes honesty is the best policy.

At the end of the day, MSM is code to me for Down Low Dude and Gay Men in Denial. It really all means the same thing. All I ask is for people to be open and honest about who they are and what they do. No one wants to end up the highlight on the evening news for something that is very very very avoidable.

Weekend Update: Wandering Thoughts, Girls Night In & Quiet Convos with Mailroom Boy

2009-08-04T08:41:00.004-04:00

Again work pulled me off to some obscure location Friday morning. This time it required getting up at the butt crack of dawn. Luckily that is just my time so it wasn’t all that bad. Instead of my usual 5:45AM start I pushed it up a bit to 5AM on the dot. Truly no harm no foul considering I am an early bird, Granny SJ would be oh so proud.

Thinking about it I should give Granny SJ a call. I haven’t spoken to her in awhile….wonder if she’s still riding the Deacon…

Anywho I didn’t do a week in review post last week because well nothing material actually happened last week besides De-He Who Must Not Be Name-atized my room. It wasn’t that difficult…just some random artifact from Tunisia and removal of the ceremonious washcloth, towel and toothbrush.

Guess I should mention that while working by my lonesome at the client site in Jersey my mind wandered to He Who Must Not Be Named. I guess it was the isolation that made my mind race….not sure. It wasn’t a bad thought just a random WTF moment that passed as quickly as it came. Picked up the receiver but remembered he is away in Tunisia at his cousin’s wedding celebration, laughing no doubt. Considered leaving a narsty message but I left that thought right where it started and said, “Faith grow the f*ck up, this isn’t junior high anymore. Act like a frigging adult and stop wasting mind power thinking of vengeful plots and go back to work.” I actually said that out loud to myself…profanity and all, good thing I was alone…

Moving right along, after an unimpressive/impressive day in Northern Jersey the Powers that be released me early to scurry home and attempt to beat both the Jersey and PA traffic. Obviously the Powers and Mother Nature aren’t on speaking terms because mid way (or what would have been mid way through the ride home) I was stuck in an extra hr or so of traffic not to mention the mild tsunami outside my window. I did of course travel prepared and had umbrella ready, willing and able to do its part not to become the beginning of the end of my hair. We all know how obsessive I am about the follicles.

During the monsoon, Mailroom Boy sent a text asking if I was alright, given the treacherous weather and asked if I wanted to get together. Hmmmmmm At nearly the same moment (that’s really just dramatics but very close in proximity) The Best Friend sent an SOS text crying (if you could hear a cry in text form) that she needed a girls night in. You know where my loyalties lay. I cancelled plans with Mailroom Boy, abrupt I know but he understood.

Braving the element I stopped at the Wine & Spirits (those not punished to live in Philadelphia the Wine & Spirits store is the only place you can purchase alcohol) and picked up an old friend, Vodka. I was sure that The Best Friend had her sidekick Rum handy or possibly Tequila, not really a fan of either. Rum I just don’t like and well Tequila will have me taking my panties off faster than…well never mind me and Tequila aren’t girl night in appropriate.

Girls night in turned into Bitch-fest X or IX honestly I’ve lost count at this point. In general I am not a man-hater. Even though I grew up with the most despicable, deplorable representation of man possible in the Man Wander Married I still can’t bring myself to discount men totally. Maybe I am hopelessly romantic deep down or something. Anywho, the Best Friend opened up about Dapper Dan in a way I never seen coming. Alcohol confessions are the best. The long and short of it, without spreading her business in the streets because I heart her and this is my blog to revel the cutes and uglies of Faith not dish dirt about my friends, he stole something from her.

Not literally…emotionally. In the past I was quick to point out to The Best Friend and others that Dapper Dan should be given another shot at love. Unfortunately my friend felt otherwise and now I understand it is with good reason. Yes I already knew the jacked up, asshole dude things he’d done in the past but somewhere inside the core that is me I felt he truly loves her or else he was just a glutton for punishment. In any case and I am paraphrasing here she said that she gave herself to him in a way that was unlike any way she’d ever given or thought she was able to give to anyone (yes I know this has no back story and it won’t unless she cares to blog about it) and when he did the jerk immature things guys do he stole that part of her that she had given to him and she doesn’t think she will ever give that much again.

I wanted to cry for her but I am not big on tears. Well I did a little but she didn’t know. An empathy tear slid down my face that I buried in a pillow. After the confession I did mention that if she continues this way, he wins. I don’t want to see him win for the Best Friend’s sake. A little piece of my heart for Dapper Dan slipped away that night.

Saturday I cancelled on Mailroom Boy again. I know but I felt like the comfort of friends, people who’ve known me longer and get me without explanation. We caught a flick, The Orphan…good movie it was worth the ticket. We (The Best, Nurse Friend and I) ended up at our favorite diner breaking bread and telling jokes. It felt like old times…rarely are all three of us together, sort of our own Golden Girls minus 30 years. We hashed out some more relationship ish and I floated away to a memory of Future Husband and returned (all unnoticed by my friends) to the convo without spite…that’s a first.

Growing up…maybe…taking my own advice….possibly…When I can write the post about Future Husband I know all of “it” whatever it is will be gone….

Sunday we bowled to victory yet again. We are the team to beat, booyah! Since I’d cancelled nearly three weeks in a row with Mailroom Boy this weekend would make it four so instead I stuck to my word and took in a late night flick, The Collector, also a good movie and worth the ticket. I laughed in the face of my 5:45AM alarm and spent the entire movie (minus the time when I was watching and exchanging flirty banter) thinking about why I was there and if I could see any possible future with this man. I didn’t get any answers.

We spent an additional hour or so in my car having quiet conversation (man is he a talker). He told me that he liked my dress. We talked a little about our families…mostly surface stuff with morsels of depth. I mentioned my un-comfortableness with our work situation. He smiled and said that would explain some of my behavior and how long did I think it would take for me not be uncomfortable….no answer. He could see my wheels turning and he kissed away those thoughts but by the time I got home, close to 2AM, they were ripe on my mind again…

Side Note: The could be completely incidental and maybe the person realized he/she didn’t really like my writing style but I lost a follower after the whole Obama race post….guess I can’t please everyone.

Weekly Rant: Obama – A Racial Opportunist Seeking Racial Authenticity?!?!?!?!?!?

2009-07-29T10:24:00.008-04:00

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What is a racial opportunist who seeks racial authenticity? Does President Obama fit the bill? Honestly I don’t know for sure because I am not 100 (this is slang it means sure, carry on) about what it really means. On a side note I do enjoy when people string together catchy phrases like these but I love it more when said person can explain it without going semi ape-shit. With that said you should check out the clip from the Today Show above it will shed some light on the post to follow.

Unfortunately the clip cuts off at the end and you don’t get to see Matt give Malkin the stank eye, which I thought was hysterical and had me laughing all the way to work…classic Lauer. I used to heart him when he had hair…I mean one morning Matt was finer than a glass of wine and the next day he was bald, WTF? Sorry I went on a small tangent.

Anywho, let me back track and say that after graduating from SJU I stopped having race conversations. It always gets out of hand and no one walks away feeling kum bah yahish instead everyone is agitated and I don’t like Agitation all that much. She’s an ugly biotch.

Here are a few reasons why I stopped knocking on Agitation’s door. One because I learned that a bigot will be a bigot until the cows come home, some people are bred badly. It takes a mighty big wind to change the direction of the storm and I don’t have wind machines at my disposal so I pick and choose my battles. And two, race much like religion and politics is divisive. Race clears a room faster than a whore can run out of Sunday school, figuratively speaking.

Amongst friends I share my little racial tidbits but even there I like to keep a tight lip because well I don’t enjoy going there anymore. I’d much rather talk about artificially inseminating rabid leopards or the joys of watching paint dry. (You get where I’m going with that I’m sure.)

But back to the matter at hand shall we. Was Barack wrong for saying he thought the Cambridge Police Dept acted stupidly, let me see…NO! Yep I said it dang it and I meant it. Let’s remove the elephant in the pinstripe suit from the room for a minute if a police officer arrests someone in his own home after he proves that he is not the burglar his neighbor thought she saw breaking into his home that smells a little stupid to me. Maybe I’m wrong.

It’s very possible I am wrong seeing I have no legal background whatsoever besides those four years of criminal justice learnings they gave me at SJU.

Alright I’m letting the pinstriped elephant back in but only briefly because he’s uncomfortable to look at. Do I understand Harvard Dude’s anger (yes I do). It gets real old real quick when you are accused of something for no other reason besides your skin color. (Trust it is not something you get used to and every time it happens it f*cks up your day) Sorry folks it just does. You know like when I went to purchase a Gucci bag from Saks (granted I was dressed very un-Saks like, what my fur coat was in the cleaners sue me!) and security was called to watch me shop. (This is ass biting I mean if I had a wedgie I now had an audience.) Maybe Harvard Dude jumped to an unreasonable conclusion….he might have been wrong…and he might have been right.

Unfortunately, we (general public) will never know because believe it or not neither one of their stories, Harvard Dude or Cambridge Cop is 100 (this is slang it means accurate, carry on). Yup I said it. (This might come as a news flash to some but people lie…I know it’s hard to believe…and here’s the topper Police lie too because guess what before they are cops they are people.) Not that I am calling either one of them liars because I believe each told his true perception of the situation. But that’s the kicker folks it’s a perception of the events not the actual events. Take for instance that the police report read that the 911 caller said two black men were possibly breaking into the home….transcript clears up this PERCEPTION as the caller never mentioned race until prompted and when she did she said she thought one of them (suspected burglars) could be Hispanic.

See that Perception is a sneaky little son of female pooch in heat!

It’s a clear case of cooler heads needed to prevail. Harvard Dude probably shouldn’t have spouted off at the mouth just because he felt some type (this is slang it means disrespected, carry on), assumed or real, and Cambridge Cop probably shouldn’t have arrested an old man who walks with a cane inside of his proven residence…it’s really that simple. The Pres probably should have kept his color commentary to a minimum and only in private said you know that was some shit, pushed it off and solved this here health care crisis. IDK those are just a few of my thoughts.

And to address the initial statement…racial opportunist seeking racial authenticity…that is just balls out dumb. If you want you can tell Michelle Malkin I said it. For one she makes the assumption that in order to belong to a race there is some sort of challenge of color. Hello I was born black no one had me fill out a questionnaire I’m sure the same rules apply for being white although I could be wrong…silly backwards broad. Second chica needs to get herself a dictionary (judging by her wardrobe she can afford it) opportunistic implies that someone derives personal benefit from a particular situation and that benefit is earned unethically…if I were to paraphrase dictionary.com and I am. Explain what type of racial benefit or any other benefit the Pres gets from making a rash statement like that….none and on top of that now he has to buy these two morons a beer and answer the ridonkulous question of whether he is racist.

Seriously Barack racist….I guess he wakes up in the morning and screams I hate you to half of his face.

Clearly I need to have some odd ball race issue happen to me and I will be one step closer to smelling Obama’s cologne. Oops did I say that out loud. Please no one secretly slip the First Lady my blog address, she might send the secret service after me.

Ok folks this was a little winded but I am now off the soapbox and Michelle Malkin, kick rocks…she’s a snippy little biotch isn’t she?

Did I mention I don’t like race talk…this is the last time…I hope!