January 2, 2013

I’m Back! Probably…

Once upon a time I had a short-lived career as a blogger. By career I mean Chi Chi came to me one day and said “Hey let’s start our own blogs” and I said “Ok” and wrote 3 posts. ADHD and life happened so I stopped.

With the recent addition of 3 WHOLE subscribers this year, I now feel obligated to torture ALL OF YOU with my awesomeness.

More to come in 2013!

Also Happy Stevie Wonder Appreciation Week!!!

Cheers,

Me

March 17, 2011

Chocolate Wasted Baby Making

A few years ago a young woman made a comment that I always thought was ridiculous and absurd. The fact that we were both pregnant and hormonal blinded me from knowing which of us was responsible for the ridiculousness so I always blamed her by default. We were having our normal pregnant pow-wow one evening when I jokingly referred to her as a “baby momma”. At the time I felt their wasn’t anything wrong with calling someone a baby momma because it’s not like it’s a swear word. I didn’t call her a bitch or an ass-whore so what’s the problem right? Calling someone a baby momma was more so unpleasant because it sounds ghetto. In my book, this was a good enough reason to not to use it in a serious or professional conversation, but not so bad that I couldn’t refer to someone as such while joking off the record. Either way, she gets super offended (even though I’m pregnant and unmarried as well) and screams “I’m not a baby momma, I’m too educated!” So to make a long story short, I took it personal and ran home to cry because I was pregnant and hormonal and super insecure about being late in life (see Pinot’s and No-No’s). “Why was she mean to me? Just because she has a degree doesn’t make her better! Not only does she have a degree but I don’t! and we’re both having a child by men who we aren’t in a relationship with anymore!” At that point I probably called her a few of those colorful words and rightfully so right? Right.

So fast forward a few years.  One evening my mom, and my “baby daddy” and I were briefly conversing on the phone. As he’s talking to my mom, he refers to me as his “BM”. My mom asks “what’s a BM? a bowel movement?” He says “I could see that being the case too, but no it’s a baby momma”. It’s traditionally difficult for me to get along with both of these people so I was actually fading in and out of the conversation until I heard him say “BM”. I immediately became offended and I interrupt them, “I am not a baby momma, and I hope you don’t refer to me as that”. My mom jumps in and says “Well if you’re not a baby momma then what are you?” I said “I’m his ex!” Just then I realized how valid my old friends irrational statement truly was.  She never went into detail about her point, or maybe she just didn’t bother explaining to me but that didn’t make it less true. She was able to connect with what being a baby momma entailed and it wasn’t until I heard myself being called one that I connected with that meaning for myself.

Some may disagree, but to me a baby momma is random. Even if she loved, she wasn’t loved. She wasn’t treated special. She wasn’t recognized on her birthday or valentines day and when she gave the news to the lucky guy that she was pregnant, he was probably less than happy. A baby momma wasn’t an obligation and she was probably only ever contacted to do “the do”. Education plays a major role in this situation. It’s not about how many degrees you earn, it’s about the amount of times you settle for less than your worth. Are you in a relationship with a person who’s not in a relationship with you? Does he take you out in public or bring you home to mom? Does he treat you like a princess and do things just to see you smile? Does he feel obligated to help you when life goes wrong?

My friend was right. I’m educated and therefore cannot be considered a baby momma. Argument settled. I was in a relationship for two years before the kid was born. I was always remembered on special days and acknowledged on not so special days whether it be with a phone call or flowers. During the course of our involvement I was laid off from work on two separate occasions, but working or not, whether we were together or not, I never worried about unpaid bills or not being able to have a drink with a friend. Regardless of our status he felt obligated to take care of me. I’m not glorifying single parenting because that’s a different subject of suckiness and I’m also not implying that our relationship was ideal. If that were the case we would be married or together still. Our relationship in essence could be described as not being the absolute best like the two kids from the Titanic, but not being the absolute worst like Ike and Tina. Yea…

I didn’t have a child with a man who would one day proudly call me his wife, but I also didn’t choose the man who made me his random Monday night fling. Fortunately and unfortunately, I fall somewhere in-between the two. It’s that huge gray area on the spectrum of relationships where you’ll find kisses, flowers, family trips to the children’s museum and irate calls at 4 am. I’m not super picky about the title, as long as it’s not a phrase that begins with the letters “B” and “M”. This means I’m not the woman who will ever consider Baby Momma, Bowel Movement, or Booger Machine terms of endearment. Call me Landon’s mom, an ex-girlfriend, a friend, or an enemy. And if none of those fit, Tonya works just as well. 

November 29, 2010

Shpoogie Woogie and Smiles

I’m not your typical mom. I struggle with the whole motherhood thing and I think it’s because I had a kid before I was ready. I was 22 when I had him, which is older than most new moms now and days, but I hadn’t graduated from college, traveled the world and I’m still not married. The kid aggravates me probably more than 50% of the time and I don’t get those warm fuzzies of fulfillment that most moms experience. You know how most moms feel their life is complete because they had a kid? I never understood that feeling. It doesn’t take much work to conceive a child and pretty much anyone can do it. It’s not like completing a degree or climbing a mountain, it’s more like catching the flu. When people list having kids as an accomplishment I always think “Ohhh, so you’re a loser who never did anything with your life…” Plus it’s like you’re bragging that you pooped out a baby and your baby more than likely sucks. They could turn into a felon, or a whore or an average joe with nothing valuable to contribute to society. You never know what type of jerk you’re gonna raise, so why brag about making babies when it hasn’t done anything brag worthy?

Speaking of raising jerks, my kid isn’t your typical kid. He has a bad temper, he cries a lot, and has told me on more then one occasion that he’s running away to grandma’s house. He’s impulsive, just recently got over his fear of balls, and has tendencies to not be very happy or friendly. He’s 3, who wants to babysit?

Our interactions aren’t typical for your average mother-son duo. We have the strangest relationship ever, but it works. He kisses my boo boos just like I do for him. He tells me I’m pretty, and sometimes he shares his fruit snacks with me. We hug and kiss each other and say I love you but we don’t really like each other. It’s like we both know we’re kinda stuck for the next few years and just try to make the best of our situation. I’m not just speaking from my perspective either. I know he doesn’t like me because he told me the other day. He said “I not like you”. My feelings were hurt so I told him “I not like you either.” We then just sat in the room not talking to each other for several hours until he got hungry and yelled at me to make him some white pasta.

We argue a lot. We argue a lot but it works for us. We mainly argue because of his inability to tell the truth or know what the heck. He cries and screams loudly in public. He often makes things up and pulls douchebag moves like walks slow when I’m in a hurry or throws objects that I asked him to hand to me. He tells people that I have a tail and that I wear diapers which is completely untrue. When he goes potty, he calls me to wipe him because he’s finished but then yells at me to leave because he’s not done. He tells me he wants white pasta, then when I’ve finished preparing it, he says he didn’t want white pasta, he wants chicken nuggets. After I’ve made the chicken nuggets he says he wants pasta and after I make the pasta he says chicken nuggets again. I make the chicken nuggets then he yells at me because I didn’t make fries. He’s been calling me a shpoogie woogie for the past few weeks and I don’t really know what that means but it doesn’t sound like a compliment so I decided I was offended.

It’s difficult to converse with him. Partly because he’s three and also because he’s a jerk and also because he’s a boy.

Me: “Landon go use the potty”

Landon: “Me not have to potty”

Me: “Landon use the potty”

Landon: “No I not use the potty, you use the potty”.

Me: “I don’t need to use the potty I already went.”

Landon: “You not went to the potty, you potty on yourself”

Me: “Landon pull down your pants and use the potty!!!”

Landon: “I don’t need to potty!” as he uses the potty

Me: “I thought you didn’t need to potty Landon?”

Landon: “I not potty”

Me: “And you better not tell people I went to the potty on myself”

Landon: “I tell everybody…”

I use to struggle with my semi-pessimistic feelings towards the kid. I don’t like spending every waking moment with him and I can actually think of a billion things I’d rather be doing then raising a kid. Traveling without stressing about a sitter, using the bathroom in peace or eating ice cream by myself are just a few.  As time goes on, I notice that I struggle less with motherhood. Landon and I don’t get along every single second of the day and most people who love each other don’t. We argue a lot but I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I miss him when he’s gone and I sit in my room and watch spongebob after he leaves. He lies his arse off, but his stories make me smile. Like when he told his teacher that his name was Dee Dee Harris or when he came home and said his dad poops standing up. Even when he called me a shpoogie woogie, my response was “Your daddy is a shpoogie woogie” but in the inside I smiled at his creativity. Who thinks of words like that?

He doesn’t like me and I don’t like him, but we love each other regardless of our flaws and I think that’s more respectable. I’d prefer my children love me because I earned it, and not because I’m the person who randomly pooped them out. We’re not the traditional family who love each other because of our title, we’re actually better.

November 2, 2010

Gato Negro

A few weeks ago a black man was killed by the police. It’s unfortunate because a man lost his life and someone lost their son, boyfriend, cousin, nephew, and friend. When we hear these stories in the black community one word comes to mind. Racism. When I heard the story I thought wow, why would they shoot and kill him? I later found out this particular young man was the same person who robbed several banks in the area with a gun, so when the police came to arrest him, of course he ran. They opened fire when he went into his pocket to grab what turned out to be something that wasn’t a gun. Do we still think the police are racist? Or was this young man living a life that eventually led to his demise?

There is a trend of black people crying race in situations that are not race related. There’s a larger epidemic of black people crying race in situations when the black person involved was wrong. According to the theory, black men are held at a higher standard but they clearly aren’t living up to it. Without starting a dialogue about slavery and its impact on the african american community today, the facts remain we have opportunities that didn’t exist 50 years ago. The days of physical racism are over black men. You can make choices. You can choose to get an education, you can choose to not rob a bank, you can choose to be inconvenienced by doing what’s right and not what comes easier.

A debate ensued recently after Lebron stated he thinks race played a part in him being scrutinized so harshly by the media. I know an idiot who had made the same comments on Facebook so when Lebron came out with his statement, that added fuel to the fire. This guy is the type who had an estimated 10.7 status updates per week complaining about how “his life is so hard because he’s black, black men are the most hated and most feared, black men have to work harder because they’re black and if you’re not a black man then you can’t comment because you’re not black and don’t understand since you’re not black”. Frustrating right? So when he de-friended me for sharing my opinion I was like sweet! one less loser status update popping up on my news feed.

I’ve made several observations about this particular type of black man because I’ve met several in my lifetime. They typically:

1. don’t complete their education

2.don’t have/can’t keep a job

3.don’t respect women

4.make excuses when things don’t work in their favor

The young man wasn’t shot and killed because of his history with armed robbery and drugs, Lebron wasn’t scrutinized because of his douchetastic decision-making skills, and the facebook idiot is an unemployed, wanna-be singer not because of his unfinished education and lack of talent  but yes you guessed it! Because they’re black.

I believe we still deal with institutionalized racism but no one is taking our fathers from our homes and tying them to railroad tracks anymore. Statistically speaking, black men have a pretty sucky start at life! But it’s 2010 militant, black man, get over yourself and get an education. “The Man” isn’t waiting at the doors of Harvard, or your local community college/trade school with fire hoses waiting to hose down the next negro who looks thirsty. So what are you waiting for? Ok, ok maybe college isn’t for everyone, but at least get a clue, a plan and a job. Sigh…ok, ok maybe working isn’t for everyone either. So if you decide to rob a bank, sell drugs, and for those who do work, humiliate an entire city by going on national television to tell them you quit after we waited 3 months for your decision, at least recognize that death, jail sentences and scrutiny will follow because of  poor choices, not racism.

Lebron posed a good question, What should he do? What should we do as a race? He mentioned something about disappearing, which I think sounds like a fabulous idea! Anyone named Lebron and everyone who makes excuses for their poor decisions can disappear, then we’ll be one step closer to peace. I’ll be honest with you though, he probably won’t disappear. He’ll probably more than likely come out with another aggravating statement and/or commercial in another month or so. Then everyone will get worked up and angry and will say stuff like “oh Lebron is so stupid and ugly and insensitive and we hate him so much” and the cycle continues. Black men will sell drugs, rob banks, not seek employment or education, make babies and be poor examples to their children while blaming “The Man” and that cycle will continue as well. I say we end both cycles now and all it takes is one glass of wine.

I propose a toast to the death of excuses and Lebron’s Nike ad!

Cheers

September 17, 2010

Pinots and No No’s…

Have you ever not taken great advice from someone because of who they were or how they behaved? I heard some really great advice a while ago from a total douche (who managed to display his douchebaggery in a mere 3 hours), but what he said rejuvenated my passion for happiness and success. You see I have a problem. While my problem is rectifiable, it won’t be repaired overnight or necessarily in a few weeks. It could take several years to fix, and at this point I don’t feel as though I have that much time. My problem is I’m late. I’m late in life. I’m late in everything. As a matter of fact, I was late to work today. I was late graduating from college, late figuring out what I wanted to do for a career and thus, late figuring out how to accomplish the task. Sprinkle in a few obstacles like being laid off twice, becoming pregnant and then being underemployed and you have the story of my life. This not only sucks for a person who values being on time, but really puts a strain on my new-found positive outlook on life.  This shouldn’t matter, but I look around and see many of my comrades with no kids, undergrad and grad degrees, exciting careers, married, traveling, shopping, and living in super sexy homes. We’re all the same age and I have accomplished 1 out of the 8 things listed. You see? I’m late. So at this point I’m constantly networking, working part-time jobs to gain experience in my field and volunteering. Although this is the happiest I’ve been in a really long time because of all the free time I’ve had to volunteer and hang with the kid, it doesn’t cancel out the financial stress that often rears its ugly head.

So fast forward a bit, I decided to go to sushi rock after work one evening (I didn’t have the kid with me and I felt pretty, so I definitely needed to be seen). While sipping on a glass of wine and waiting for an amazing dish called beef sushi, this guy sits next to me. He was short in stature but his style of dress compensated for his lack of height. We talked for a while and he didn’t hold back on disclosing to me personal information such as his age (35), new job, six figure salary, homes, cars,  nice suits blah, blah, blah. I tell him how I recently graduated with a BA in Psychology and how I’d love to start my non profit organization but it’s been difficult because I’m late.  In a nutshell, he then explains to me, a 25-year-old (undergrad) graduate with no formal experience, how I’m not late,  that I really did have plenty of time to accomplish all of my goals, that I should take my time and in 10 years probably less I will have accomplished everything that I wanted. He then used his self as an example saying he was 35 and just now made it and was looking forward to the new opportunities awaiting him.  I thought about all the teenagers that I’ve spoken to in the past, telling them not to rush to become an adult and enjoy their youth and I felt like a silly 18-year-old who couldn’t wait for her first sip of alcohol. I pictured myself at 30-35, recently married, traveling the world with all of my degrees, with a 6 figure salary and it didn’t seem so bad. I mean 40 apparently is the new 20 if you ask Demi Moore, Halle Berry, and  Jennifer Aniston so I could definitely do it at 30 right?  I know he didn’t say anything super amazing that I didn’t already know, so I apologize if I got you excited but it’s just no one has ever explained it to a person like me with my situation. You know, someone who’s late.

So at that moment, and not at the disclosure of his salary, home, car, or his promises to pay my bills and buy me nice things, is when I began to think “Hmmm, this guy might be kind of cool, and I might like him enough to let him take me out again”. The 4 drinks he bought kind of helped also, but not enough to make me go home with him on the first night or a year from then. When I turned down his offer to drive me home, (yea right) he decided to rudely excuse his self from the table and leave me to marinate in my increasing drunkenness. Ok, I’ll be honest, the six figure salary did make him an itty, bitty, tiny bit more attractive and tall but it definitely didn’t change my morals and values. And although I’m pretty confident he didn’t have good intentions that night, I was able to gain reassurance about my status in life once again.

After waking up the following evening, I was able to reflect on what I had learned the previous day, which was definitely cause for a toast:

“To friends, especially the ones who answer their phones before the pinot fully kicks in”

Cheers

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