Hey! Are You Housing Discriminating Me?

Yeah, you! Old White Christian Conservative Guy. Are you housing discriminating me? Because, I was told that you were desperate to fill this unit, and I was the first one here.

I'm ready to sign, and I have a list of references in my left hand, and my security deposit in my right. Wait, what? You need to see if someone else wants the apartment? The unit is still available isn't it? So, what's going on again, cuz I'm looking to pay for somewhere to live, you have somewhere to live but you need someone to pay you. The shit sounds like a symbiotic relationship to me. You took down my references; even my boss' number. What's the hold-up papi?

So, that looked very confusing. After stewing over it, and talking to the folks who were with me, I decided, "Yup. Looks like discrimination." I found a housing alternative, and then decided to call the guy to find out what the story was.

I laid out what I saw, and told him what looked like a reasonable conclusion to me, and then asked him to help me understand what was going on. He got pissed, but it didn't deter me. So, we worked through it. He told me enough of his side of the story and what happened and why for things to look sane and reasonable.

He could be lying through his teeth. I don't think he is, but he very well could be. I'm still okay with it.

White people: If you are going to housing discriminate (really I guess any discrimination. really I guess, not just white people), please understand that you need to get your story together. As long as you can offer a reasonable explanation that stands up to scrutiny, pretty much you can have people easily accept the most absurd of circumstances.

I Punched Myself In The Stomach Just Now.

Well, not just now, but recently enough that I still feel like throwing up. I didn't punch myself in the stomach on purpose, in fact I was really fucking shocked that it happened. It kinda knocked the wind out of me, but mostly it made me want to throw up. It’s 6:28 am, I’m in the airport, and I don’t get to NY until 11:30, and I can’t eat anything before my plane takes off, because I punched myself in the stomach.

Terrible.

It seemed innocent enough, I was tired of carrying my bag, so I got one of those carts with the handbrake. Push down it rolls, release and it stops. Well, I can be a brisk walker, and in my briskness I forgot that the handbrake violates the laws of inertia. Your cart will not slow down with you as process that a bathroom is ahead on the left. If you let go of the handbrake, it stops. It stops rather abruptly in fact.

If you’re not paying close attention you will walk, kinda fast, into a stationary object with a bar that comes right across your abdomen. I don’t ever remember someone being really pissed at me and punching me in my stomach. But, this shit makes me want to be nice to everyone I meet for the rest of my life, just in case. This shit is terrible.

Before that I had a security guard yell at me because I asked him if he was having a bad day. He was being really rude to an old woman who hadn’t flown since the new security measures had been implemented, and she was confused about a lot of things. He yelled at me because “I didn’t know him” and therefore couldn’t tell if he was frustrated or not. So, since he was already pissed, and now taking it out on me, I toyed with him.

“Well, I hope your day gets better.”

Fumimg words!!

“I’m just saying that I hope you have a good day.”

“Ma’am! Just take your bag and leave.”

“Oh, my bags still haven’t come out yet. If they had, I wouldn’t be standing here listening to you take out your frustrations.” (smile)

Fuming words!!

“Ok then, have a nice day!”

Fuming words!!

I told all of the folks in the security area to have a nice day. Some of them laughed. Some of them didn’t.

Before that, my cab forgot about me. I called for a cab to the train, and then planned to ride the train to the airport. I called several times and was told that he was on the way each time. Finally, I called back pissed, and demanded to know what they were going to do for me since this whole ordeal had taken nearly 30 minutes, and now it was too late for me to catch the train. Free ride to the airport, and the driver was the guy who “forgot” to pick me up. Ok.

After 10 minutes, I’d started walking. Not because I thought it would make a difference about time/convenience, but because I would have been pissed if I just sat in the house waiting. So, I walked ¾ mile at 5am through not necessarily the safest part of town, carrying my luggage over my shoulder.

The whole thing was almost laughable, which wasn’t lost on me. So, the guy finally arrives, and tells me that he forgot. He didn’t have an answer for why he never came after the subsequent calls, but I tell him that because of his dropping the ball, I now need to go straight to the airport, and they said that they would take care of it.

“No problem, I’ll take care of it for you. And, I’ll get you to the airport early. I’m really sorry.” he turns off his meter, and were off.

So, we ride to the airport at 80+ mph, and I decided that mistakes happen, so I would pay him the fare that I would have otherwise paid to get to the train plus a tip. So, $15 is better than nothing; he’s just a working stiff.

We pull up to my airline, and he says, “Okay, that’ll be $30.” WTF!?!?

“Normally, it would be $33, but I want to take care of the inconvenience.”

I ran him through the litany of inconveniences he caused me, including the need to get a ride all the way to the airport in the first place. $3, uhm- I had to tell him that I was doing my best not to curse him out.

So, I had to argue with him, and he finally agreed to a lower fare.

He got $10, I told him that I shouldn’t give him anything, and made him give me change from a $20. (ouch!)

Started with that, went to the friendly security guy, and then punched myself in the stomach. Somehow, I’m still in a pretty good mood. I haven’t succumbed to “having a bad day”. Could be my crush. Could be that a couple of shitty instances haven’t ground me down to the point that I’m starting to take it personal.

I think I’ll go get a croissan’wich.
___________________________________________________

Fast forward to 1am. I had a pretty good day. I found a really good BBQ joint; found the apartment that I plan to live in for the next 12 months; wandered out to the edge of town and found what may become my favorite Polish restaurant; and went with a friend to grab a drink, where I met some cool-ass folks and got me some digits.

Not a bad day at all.

Am I Too Old To Call It A Crush?

It honestly feels so 7th grade to call it a crush, but it makes me feel like I'm in 7th grade. I have a crush!!!

She makes my heart go pitter-thump! Like it thumps so hard in my chest that I can't breathe. I can't remember my thoughts. I can't remember that I'm not boring, or that I have witty witticisms. I have a crush, and she makes me all redundant and shit, but I don't even care, because because her hair is pretty.

What does she do? I don't know.
Where is she from? I don't know.
What does she like? I don't know.
What excites her? Justice, I think.

I love everything about her!!!!!

Does she like me?
I don't know. Maybe. I'm pretty likable, except I can't remember that when I have a crush on someone. I'm too busy feeling awkward, and unattractive, and gangly- like my arms are too long or something, but I never had a growth spurt. I've always been fairly well proportioned.

I like her so much that I take on other people's awkwardness and discomfort. My crush makes me feel like I'm really tall, but uncomfortable about my height.

She has beautiful brown eyes. I wonder if she wears contacts...

Blogette VIII

I went for a run yesterday.

I hurt my foot.

Stupid Latin body parts!

Stupid longus tendons!

Lifted

Straight from the EBP site. This fucking site highlights just how cliche and stereotypical I really am. I used to love my fucking Top Siders. Anyway, this episode of the Boondocks reminded me of when BET was sold, and I started to talk to my family and friends about why I would never support BET from here forward.

Funny.




Personnel!!!! How are fuckin up Niggas money?

Why Yes, Thank You. They Are Contacts!

I have brown eyes. Regular, normal, run of the mill, right smack dab in the middle of an African-American phenotype- brown eyes.

I don't wear contacts, (Oh, Susan, I know that I told you in an e-mail that I wear contacts. That was a joke. I have 20/15 vision. If you're not Susan, this will not make any sense to you. And, you will have a hard time coming up with a context wherein telling someone that you wear contacts when you don't is funny. Don't bother. I'm pretty good at wrangling humor, and it was actually a stretch.) never wore contacts. Just eyes.

I had a strange day today. I fell into a light coma after my ride. In fact, I slept so long that I missed my friend's wedding. (Sorry about that K! I feel really bad. It was good sleep though, if that makes you feel better.) Even though I missed the wedding, I figured that at least I could get a haircut before hitting the reception.

My normal hair cutter was out for the day, ironically, because he was photographing a wedding, but the other guy was there. Now, I just needed a quick haircut, and he asked me to stick around and told me he would cut my hair. I ran to grab some cash and came back. Now, there was a long ass line of folks who'd come in while I was gone to get cash. Am I ahead of them, or are they ahead of me? Obviously, the two of us had a difference of opinion. After an hour of waiting I got up to leave, and he runs after me into the parking lot to waive me down. Why? Why??? Because he wants my phone number! (WTF?!?!?!)

Let's say I wanted to sex you. Let's just say. Uhm, I would give you preferential treatment, right? Uhm, cuz I want to sex you. But at the very least, I would treat you fairly. I wouldn't overlook you for 40 minutes, and then run you down in a parking lot. (Men are silly.)

So, I drive across town to a different shop, and when I sit down in the guy's chair we chat for a bit. Blah, blah, blah. Then he says, "You have incredibly beautiful eyes." Now, just as I'm saying, "Thank you," he says one of the craziest things I've heard since 1986.

"I thought they were contacts, but they're your eyes. They are beautiful."

Now, I don't think I said anything other than, "They're brown," but I thought, "Uhm Negro, my eyes look just like yours, and hers, and his, and everyone else in the the room." I thought about telling him that my eyes are light grey, but I wear brown contacts because more people notice me that way. Yeah, I'm just African-American, but a lot of people think I have ambiguous ethnicity because I have brown eyes. Its a real conversation starter, but honestly it can get tiresome. Sometimes I wish I just had eyes like everyone else. Oh wait- I do.

You Don't Want To Be My Workout Partner

Honestly, you don't. In the name of all that is holy, listen to me and spare yourself the agony.

It's not because I'm unreasonable, or I'll push you beyond your limits. I'm not unreliable when you really need someone to show up, or even motivate you. As far as those qualities go, I'm top notch. Hell! I'm so good there, I could be a personal trainer. I'm fucking awesome.

But, don't get sucked in! Use restraint. Why wouldn't you want to be my workout partner?

Let me tell you a story:

I woke up this morning at 7 on the nose. The first thing I remembered was that I was pretty excited about going for a bike ride. That was yesterday's excitement, today I just wanted to sleep, and a bike ride was about the farthest thing from what my legs were asking for.

I argued and rationalized, and debated with myself over whether I would go for a ride. About an hour later, when I honestly told myself that I would go, except for the price of gas, I realized that I might as well get up and go for a decent ride.

I got my bike and filled up on $4.99 gas so that I could driveout to the trail (WTF!!?!?!!? I'm not happy about this shit!), and rode my bike up and down mild inclines for an hour. I didn't go full out at any point, just an hour of moderately strenuous exercise.

At the end of my workout, I stretched and hopped in my car and drove back into town. Windows down, driving down the freeway; it was niiiice.

So, after 10 minutes I started to realize that I was hungry, and if I went home to shower, I would be too tired afterwards to go out and get food. And, since I didn't want to eat a couple of bowls of Chex, I decided to pull over and grab some meal-making supplies.

When I got off the highway, and pulled into the Publix parking lot, I thought a sewer main had broken, or maybe a water treatment plant was nearby. "What the fuck is that smell???"

And suddenly, it dawned on me. That smell was me!! I was emanating the most god-awful stench that I had ever smelled in my life. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you that it was nauseating. Nauseating, you know? Like I fucking wanted to throw up!

So, just to be sure (and maybe because I'm a little retarded in sectors of my brain), I lifted my arm, buried my nose in my armpit, and took a big deep whiff. (Mistake.)

My armpit smelled like a rancid vagina. Like, let's say you had a vagina, not a woman, just a dismembered vagina. Now, since it's not attached to a living body, you're going to have to take special care with this vagina, or it may begin to decompose, and get kinda stinky in the process. If you had a dismembered vagina, you may want to keep it in the fridge, or maybe freeze it until you decide to do whatever you do with a dismembered vagina.

Okay.

Now let's say that you took that vagina, and rather than refrigerating it, you threw it in the corner of your basement. Musty, a little bit dank, but certainly dark, that basement, and left it there for a week. Then for some reason, your mom told you to get that damn vagina out of her basement, so you put it outside under a tree. You were nervous that your dog would think it was a toy, so you decided to put the vagina in a ziplock sandwich bag. Then you leave town for three or four days, and when you get back, you notice that the vagina has started to liquefy.

Out of curiosity, you decide to open the zip lock bag just to see what that would smell like. THAT! That is the smell from my armpit today!!! Literally, I wanted to throw up. I smelled my armpit several times just to be certain I wasn't making it up. I swear to GOD that I wanted to throw up!

But, what was I to do? Go home, and eat cereal? Hells no!

So, I went into Publix, kept my arms firmly by my sides, and tried to stay 10ft or more from people. Certainly, I did my best to avoid children, because I didn't want to hear any "children say the darnedest things" comments.

I sure as hell hope this is a one-time, maybe something I ate, occurrence. Because if this shit continues, I'm gonna have to go see a fucking specialist! And what do you say to your brand new PCP? "Uhm, doc, I need a referral (not sure to what kind of specialist, so I'll be leaning on your expertise there), but when I exercise, uhm, my armpits smell like rancid vaginas."

Signatures

Okay, here's something I don't understand.It just doesn't make sense to me.

We've all sent or received e-mails with a signature. My e-mail signature is a quote from a book that I read in seminary. My favorite signature was a Howard Thurman quote from a fellow seminarian, "Don't ask what the world needs, rather ask what makes you feel more alive and do that. Because, that's what the world needs, more people who are fully alive."

A close second, also from a fellow seminarian lifts up the words of Martin Luther. "It is through living, indeed through dying and being damned that one becomes a theologian, not through understanding, reading or speculation." Here here! Forward thinking revolutionary mind who took advantage of the printing press to make theology accessible to the masses. Also, these are the words that ring true from someone who has endured the agony and suffering that comes from acting on, and hold to their convictions. It reminds me of the lives of countless community organizers, or other revolutionaries that I know whose unwavering commitment to the possibility that the world can and will be better has cost them dearly, yet they have not folded.

Not everyone's signature is evocative though. Some are preachy, without being insightful. Some are confusing, and make you wonder why the person put them there, and perhaps even what you don't know about this person that is hinted toward with their signature quote. Most, however, are utterly forgettable.

I suppose that everyone assumes that the readers of their e-mail will have the same visceral response to these words that they had themselves, and are "evangelizing" in some way; either you will learn something, laugh about something, change your position on something, or get fighting mad about something. I don't know if most folks shoot for inspiring, or if most folks that I come across shoot for inspiring, or if "inspiring" signature quotes are what most catch my attention, but it seems like an e-mail signature quote is the least effective means of inspiring someone. Well, they don't inspire me.

Wanna know what does inspire me? YouTube videos!! Especially if they're placed on my Facebook Funwall. Whoo!!




But, none of that is what I'm talking about here. Email signatures, not signature quotes.

I just got an e-mail from Kathy Bates. "Kathy Bates" is what shows up in my inbox. When she calls me, she says, "Hello, this is Kathy." But, her e-mail signature says, "Rev. Kathryn F. (Kathy) Bates".

Now, initially that is completely unremarkable. So, why even remark? But wait!

If everyone who knows her professionally knows her as Kathy, her e-mail is set up as "Kathy", she introduces and self-references as "Kathy," why do we need the formal name in her signature with the nickname parenthetical reminder that she goes by the diminutive? Why not just write, "Rev. Kathy"??? If your name is Angelasuan, but you go by Angie in all of your relationships, then why not just write Angie in your signature? It's not a legal document. You're signing a electronic letter. That's it.

In fact, what I often see is these folks signing their e-mails with their name, only to be followed by the formal signature.

What the hell is that, huh? Here's what it looks like:

"Thanks,
Dick

Richard D. (Dick) Richardson
Title or agency or contact info or whatever"

This makes absolutely NO sense to me. None!

So, if you're one of these Dicks, can you help me understand why you do this? I really don't get it. If you're a Dick, then just be a Dick. Why do you want me to call you Dick, but remember that you're Richard, but parenthetically you go by Dick?

Silliness.

Badges? We Don't Need No Stinkin' Badges!

So, I made it back in to the gym to get some exercise today. But, first things first. I lost my badge. I've had it for all these months, and then with 6 weeks left to go I loose my badge? Fuck!!!

Now, really, it's no big deal, but I have to pay to have it replaced. And, since so many people have lost their badges they have decided to make payment "punitive" rather than cost- effective. What the hell fuck kinda shit is that? Who decides that they'll be a little more fast and loose with their work-badge because, "Hey, it only costs $11 to replace it. Maybe it would make a good toy for the cat."

No! No one does that. But now, with six weeks left to go, I have to be penalized, with my new badge. The amount of money, so isn't the issue. It's the principle of the matter. I mean, you want me to work, don't you? Okay then, what's up with these childish games? Joyce, can I please just have a replacement badge? I'll even foot the replacement cost. And, if it's more than $11, then tell me that you've contracted with a new fair-trade vendor who ensures that all of their employees are paid a livable wage, and they use eco-friendly production processes which are 100% sustainable, and cotton candy comes out of the smokestacks at their factories. Something!

I'll pay it, I don't mind paying it, but don't tell me that you're punishing me. Don't do that shit.

I Like to Ride My Bicycle

I like to ride my bike. I love it, love it, love it!! It feels great to build up fatigue in your quads, and then 15 minutes later notice that you're going stronger and faster than ever. The wind is whipping in and around your ear-canal so fast that it sounds like you're in a wind tunnel. You have to turn your ipod up to max, because you're moving so fast that the wind is drowning out the music.

I love to just get up at 7am when the weather is still crisp and ride for 20 miles, and then come home, shower, and still have the WHOLE day ahead of you. some folks still aren't even out of bed yet.

I love it, but I don't get to do it as often as I would like. I took about two months off from exercise. Not planned, not on purpose, fatigue just whooped my ass anytime I even considered anything requiring physical exertion.

"A run? Howbout you run your ass downstairs and handle that laundry that's waiting to be washed? Howbout you do that?"

"Daymn fatigue. It's like that?"

So, two months of nothing, maybe longer. I want to say that I could see my muscle-tone liquefy before my eyes. Mostly though, I think it gelatinized. (I wonder if my ass got bigger?!?!?!?)

So, the other day I got up with a little spring in my step and drove up to the bike trail. Okay, this could go in a couple of different directions, let's see how I want to play it.

Okay, remember the last post about going to the gym at work and running like the wind for the last half mile? Well, I hurt myself. A pull or a strain, or a something that hurts, in the arch of my foot. I've been walking around like fucking Quasimodo for a week, because I hurt my foot. So, fiending for exercise, but knowing that it was a bad idea to run: Eureeka! A bike ride!! (at 7am-ish, which means 10:30.)

So, I drive out, ride 15 miles, and I feel guh-reat!! I'm riding like the fucking wind! And, at about 7 miles I realize that my foot doesn't hurt. What does that mean? You got it! Let's cut this ride short and bring it back in for a quick 1-miler!!

Let me tell you something for those of you who don't actually know me: To be so fucking smart, I can be so fucking dumb! Like, "where you born premature or something?" dumb! So, me and my fully developed faculties sped back to my car, threw the bike in the back, grabbed a pair of shoes and took of for a 1-mile run!

I felt pretty good, for about half a mile. I guess when you've got adrenaline powering your decision-making, it takes a while for body to bypass and reroute messages to your brain. I ran 1/2 mile out. I hobble-walked 1/2 mile back. That was about 3 weeks ago. I'm still wearing the special shoes I had to buy so that my feet wouldn't hurt. And to be clear, they don't match everything. -sigh-

So, these many weeks out, I have some shout outs to other folks from the trail that day.


Lady on the bike with your husband, riding old beaters, and using crappy equipment who clearly are not bike enthusiasts, but passed me while I thought I was riding like the wind: Fuck you!!


Group of riders with your matching outfits: Uhm- you're not Lance Armstrong! You don't even work for the post office. Why are you all wearing matching USPS jerseys and shorts??? You look fucking ridiculous!! (I kinda want one too.)

[Italics indicate my adolescent sarcastic tone that I perfected by 8th grade.]

Lady running in the yellow Nike Frees: Yeah you, bitch! You!! What the fuck is your problem?!? Honestly, when you see someone on a bike trying to pass you, what's with the speeding up and keeping up with them? Inappropriate!!!

Protocol?

Ok- so, I went to the gym today at work. Got my little workout on. Arms, legs, quads, traps, (I didn't necessarily work these muscle groups, but it feels like if I go to the gym I should be able to shout out some large muscle (glutes!), so that.)

I had a good little workout, and went in to hit the showers. Now, what was striking about the locker room is that it was full of the same 6 women who were in there when I first showed up to drop off my bag. 30 minutes later, all of them are still in the locker room. How long does it take to put on clothes and brush your hair?

Okay, so post-workout, at the gym, at work. What's the getting undressed protocol again? Now, at a regular gym, I would just strip down and leave my clothes on the bench near my stall in the shower room. No bfd. Or, if it's not set up that way, I would strip down in the locker room, and then wrap a towel around me as I walked to the shower. Well, in our locker room, the lockers and bench are in the same room directly across from the shower.

Quandary. Now, my inclination is to just strip down, right? I mean, I'm about to hit the shower. But, I work with these people. I don't want to be: "Psst! *That's* the woman I was telling you about!"

"The one who walks around naked in the locker room?!?"

"YES!!!!"

I don't want to be her. Anyone who's ever been in the locker room as an adult in the gym know that there is always some woman who feels just a little bit too comfortable with her naked body, and wants to stand there talking to you with her titties flopping around. (Inapproporiate!)

So, I don't want to be anything approaching that at work. But, I also don't want to be the prudish woman who walks directly into the shower from her workout and brings sideways glances because she undresses in the shower.

"She didn't even take off her running shoes?"

"Nope. She showered in them."

So, after I got out of the shower, there was my locker room buddy from last time sitting on the bench. (Waiting for me to get out of the shower? There are two other showers, but I guess she like the one I'm in and is willing to wait.) I decided to watch her to figure out what she does. What's protocol here.

Well, she went into a bathroom stall, and undressed in there, and came out in a towel. Somehow, I think she's doing it wrong too. That doesn't make much sense to me either.

Anyway, as I sat there getting dressed, I something out of of the corner of my eye caught my attention. When I turn to look, I realize that I can see her through the glass door of the shower.

Yup.

It's not clear glass, it's either opaque, or textured glass that's suppose to refract light at so many different angles that you can't really see much behind it.

Whatever the fuck it's suppose to be, I can tell you what color her pubes are, and they don't match the hair on her head.

I saw something move, I turned, and I saw her body on the other side of the glass. .07 seconds? (dark brown, like chestnuts)

I'm not sure why, not entirely, but I feel dirty on the inside.

For My Sister

Looks like MARTA was sufficiently embarrassed to hunt down and arrest Souljagirl. (Yuuuuu!)

Apparently, she's bipolar, and went off her meds. It's interesting to notice how this incident is being spun by different factions.

Atlanta PD:
Criminals will be caught, (expecially if you are poor and black) so don't break the law, because we will catch yo ass!


MARTA:
We will not tolerate these disruptions, (expecially if we've been publicly humiliated by an incident such as this) and we will do all that is within our power to ensure the safe and comfortable travel of our passengers. Utilizing state of the art technology, and the investigative prowess of our top-notch officers, we have arrested this woman, and MARTA remains smarta.

HER MOTHER
I was concerned about my daughter being a danger to herself or others, so I called the police and turned her in.

Her sister and ex-boyfriend have painted this as a result of failing public health systems. The public hospital, in the midst of a fiscal crisis, has devoted even less resource to helping this bi-polar woman to achieve and maintain health.

In all of this, only one thing is for certain. Well, 2.

1. She probably will not get the help that she needs, as punitive rather than rehabilitative sentencing is what satisfies an angry mob.
2. MARTA police will step-up their harassment of young black folks.
3. The train didn't start to turn on her until she did that whack-ass freestyle.

Okay- What's The Protocol Here?

I haven't exercised in about two months, and I haven't been able to figure out how to work regular exercise back into my life. So, today I got up early, and came into the gym at work to go for a run. (Great run!)

So, after I'm done, I head to the showers, and there's some white lady blow drying her hair. But, she keeps looking at me in the mirror. (I'm behind her at the locker.) So, I get my bag, and get together my shower stuff, and she keeps looking at me.

I put on my shower shoes, and there she is, still looking at me. And, I'm stuck. Suddenly, I'm not sure what to do. I don't want to get undressed with the lady looking at me. Then I can't remember, "Do you get undressed in the locker room? Is that even appropriate?"

I just couldn't remember what you do in public showers. So, I puttered around for a second, secretly hoping that someone else would come in after their workout and model for me appropriate post-workout heading to the shower etiquette. No haps. She's still looking. And by the way, white ladies, how fucking long does it take to blow dry your hair?!?!?

So, fully dressed I walked to the shower, and then stood inside thinking, "this isn't right." So, I got undressed in the shower, laughing to myself, "maybe she thinks I'm modest?"

So, as I turn on the shower, I realize that there is something wrong with the seal, and the door won't close completely. There's just a little slit. No big deal. UNTIL!

So, no one else in the locker room, and the blow-drying white lady positions herself so that she's sitting on a bench and can see straight through the slit! She moved my bag so that she could sit there on the bench, (She told me when I got out of the shower.) and I guess she sat down to get dressed? To put on her socks? I dont know.

Now, she's incidental to my story. A little unnerving, certainly, but not the story. The story is, what the fuck is protocol in the office locker room? At the regular gym there's always some buck naked woman flopping around wanting to talk with you. (Oh! I just remembered, the blow-dry lady came and talked to me while I was getting dressed. I think I had on underwear, but that's it. She came and stood right next to me and talked to me about water pressure. Hmmm.... I'm starting to feel more uncomfortable about that whole episode. It's like telling someone a story of the party you went to and something that made you feel uncomfortable. "Uhm, that sounds like you were raped sweetheart." "Oh... I guess it does." I've gone from feeling a little uncomfortable about this morning's incident to feeling a little violated.

Huh. Suddenly the point that I've been writing toward feels a lot less funny.

From My Sister

Anybody Wanna See Young Geezy Kill George Bush, Shawty? YUUUUUUUUUU!!!!






So, lots of thoughts, right? Initially, I thought it was some mental health stuff. But, clearly she is on that shit. I could write pages and pages on what I thought about as I watched this video, but it seemed like a better use of time to think about why things like this happen.

Wanna know who I blame? I blame bad rap music and whack rappers.

Just Like The Muppets- Only Real

Okay- I can't sleep. It's 3:39am, and I'm doing nothing productive. For the last hour I've been laughing at videos on YouTube and sending them out to people who are probably asleep right now. Lot's of shit makes me laugh, but this was straight to the point, and only took 4 seconds to get me there.

It's just like a segment from the Muppet Show!

What's Grosser Than Gross?

Remember those jokes when I was in 7th grade? I don't know where you were in life when they hit big, but I was in 7th grade. Also, I was in Germany, so we could be the same age, and they were the hotness in your life when you were in 5th grade. Who knows? So, back when I was in 7th grade and Faces of Death videos were the hotness, grosser than gross jokes hit big.

Faces of Death: The one that sticks with me is where they have a monkey locked in the center of a table, and everyone sitting down for a meal of monkey's brains has a mallet and they just keep lightly bludgeoning the monkey to death. That one traumatized me. The one where the guy videos his friend getting mauled by a bear, or the guy who bounces off the ground when his parachute doesn't open- whatever. That monkey? The brutality of it sticks with me.

So, back then Grosser Than Gross jokes were the shit! They were always about some kind of bodily fluid, something sexual, some faces of death type gore, or a mixture of all three. I only remember two punchlines.

What's grosser than gross? Getting a boner and running out of skin.
What's grosser than that? Finishing of the jar of mayonnaise and finding a condom in it.

Not funny, mostly adolescent/sophomoric humor, but what happened to me today reminded me of the grosser than gross jokes from back when I was in 7th grade. Here's what I wrote earlier today while I was at work.

Alright. Today, I have my period. It happens. Whatever. But, I just came from the bathroom where I went to pee. Time for a new tampon. Took it out, dropped it in the toilet. -PLOP!-

"Wow! That was a big-ass splash! I bet there's water all over the fucking floor..."

I looked, and there was nothing. Noticed that my ass didn't feel wet, so, I guess the water just plopped straight up into the air and back down into the bowl. Pretty cool.

So, I finish up, and pull up my pants. What the fuck!?!?!?

My left pant-leg is wet. All the way down to the ankle ON THE INSIDE!!!! my left pant-leg is wet! That whole stream of pissy-tampon toilet-bowel water went straight down my pant-leg.
Oh, and, since my pants are lined, the water didn't stop and get absorbed at the point of entry- oh no. I have pissy tampon toilet bowel water from my hip to my ankle.

Why does this happen on the day I carved out time to "pretend" to work o that I could finish my exam that's due today? I don't have time to go home and shower. I'm already staving off deadlines!!!

This is so fucking gross. I wanna throw up.

This is Why I Went to Church

Not every week, but most times some shit like this happened. Being in the pulpit of the Black church is advanced training in handling gaffes, obscenities, and interrupting escalating humiliation with grace and ease.





One thing is for certain. Whoever the ministerial team may be, they talked about his ass over lunch that Sunday. Diminished mental capacity or not, his no-word-knowing-ass got discussed that Sunday!

Sometimes I think I'm an extrovert

I'm not. Not even close. I like people. In fact, I love people. I love being around people, but I need some time alone to regenerate and re-member myself. Sometimes I get hyper-extended with my aspirations to connect with folks.

I made some plans today to hang out with someone in the morning, and then go crank out a paper in a coffee shop, and then hang out with a friend, and then go dancing later.

But, somehow I've ended up at home in my pajamas watching a bad sci-fi flick. And writing on my blog. Oh yeah! I'm an introvert!! (Or kinda geeky.)

Man! I gotta get away and recharge sometimes. And there is nothing to recharge better than bad sci-fi. I can't even watch this shit with other people. The kind that's jarring every 3-5 minutes by something that just patently absurd. It's the kind of movie that makes you question yourself.

"Why am I even watching this movie?" or "What the hell is wrong with me? I can't believe that I sat through 2 hours of this fucking rubbish."

Bad sci-fi usually has local businesses with HORRIBLE actors in their commercials. And your acting has to be really bad for someone watching bad sci-fi to notice your bad acting.

And what is this blog-worthy horrible sci-fi crapitude? Virus. And, although everything I wrote is completely true, the only reason I'm watching it is because Jaime Lee Curtis has a starring role. (Curtis, Donald Sutherland, one of the Baldwins, and some other familiar faces. Utter shite.)