I was gone for a minute...

Now I'm back with the jump off...

Excuse me for quoting Lil' Kim... its just the first thing I thought of when I sat down to write. 

So I've been gone for a month but with good intentions I promise.  For those of you who know my mom has Valley Fever.  About three weeks ago she was put in the hospital for five days because her numbers were so high.  She was responding to the treatment very well and they released her a couple days early.  She has since been taken off of work for the next few months and has to go to the hospital three times a week to be hooked up to a machine for about five to six hours a day receiving treatment through an I.V. So that's been about two weeks in the making, and let me be the first to say God is great because the treatment is working.  Her numbers went down from 1:512 to 1:16 I can't believe it.  Oh and regular people like us are at 1:1 or 1:2 so 1:16 is amazing! She is still going to have to finish out her 20,000 milliliters of treatment which puts her to about April, but she's feeling good and I'm feeling good because of it. So that's where I've been for the last month. 

School Started...

School started three weeks ago, which means right after my mom came home from the hospital.  So try having to deal with both of those at the same time.  School is going great.  I'm working hard and am confident I'll be able to boost my GPA this year in time for grad school. Speaking of grad school.  I've decided that I am going to study documentary making in grad school.  So with that decision comes more... I am no long going to be striving for Northridge.  If everything works out, which it will, I'll be headed to the BAY and attending UC Berkeley's J-School.  The program is amazing and exactly what I was looking for.  It's going to be expensive but I know that this is where I'm supposed to be.  Where there's a will there's a way right? So with that being said... I know that I am going to have to bust my ass for the next year and a half so I can get done what I need to get in this program.  So if you don't see me for a while you'll know why... I'll catch you in four years on the small screen. 

with that being said I've got enough work to last me a month to do and only a weekend to do it. I'll be back soon... hopefully. 

High Cholesterol is a Bitch. That I want to fight.

High Cholesterol is a Bitch... that I want to fight... Can I fight my cholesterol? YEAH I CAN!

As stated earlier, I have ADD. And in order for me to sanely function through my day I must be on some sort of medication. Now do not confuse the previous statement with me saying I cannot function at all without my meds. I am simply saying that it is a lot better for me and probably you for that matter if I'm on them. I'm less likely to cuss you out and give you the bird when you cut me off while I'm driving. I am less likely to interrupt you when you are trying to tell me some important story you've been trying to tell me for weeks. Let's just say we can both get more accomplished when I have a little more help.

About three weeks ago I found myself at the very bottom of the bottle with just a few days worth of doses left.
So I did what any other person would do and requested a new prescription. Of course that would come with it's consequences. I was diagnosed with the disease, condition, whatever its being called now, a little over three years ago and have learned to dodge and maneuver my way around having blood test for that exact amount of time. Call me crazy but I'm definitely not trying to be poked and prodded by anyone ever so having blood taken is never on the top of my list. So I get a letter in the mail that states, "Hi Celia. I will not be filling any more of your prescriptions until you receive the required blood test." What?! Why the fuck did you even feel the need to say hi if you were just going to ruin my life with the next sentence. Okay, Okay, ruining of the life may be a bit extreme but let's be honest here, it's pretty damn difficult for me to function without it.

So I tell my mom what the letter says and she basically said suck the shit up I get poked every week we're going tomorrow. I thought at least she'd be on my side. WRONG! So the next day rolls around and my mom proceeds to take me down to Kaiser and get the lovely blood test done. I can not stress enough how unhappy I was at this moment by the way. I mean I know I would have walked the fuck out if my mom hadn't drove and I had a getaway vehicle.

So they finally call my name and I head back into the lab. I see a very friendly looking black lady and get kind of excited because I'm sure she'll have some kind of sympathy for me and maybe I'll get a lollipop or some stickers out of the deal. My mom looks at me and said, "Oh she's good. You want her to do yours." I'm like damn shouldn't they all be good? I mean, isn't this their fuckin job? So I took a seat in the cold ass room, in a cold ass chair, and placed my arms up on the cold ass table. The friendly black lady happened to be extracting numerous viles of blood from this old white couple so I had to wait. Everything was going fine until this big ass Mexican girl came around the corner. This bitch looked mean. She was huge and had a uni brow that came to a point in the middle of her forehead. Can you imagine that? A big ass Mexican with a uni brow. Oh yeah she had sideburns too. You know how those hairy Mexican girls have like beards and shit. Sideburns like Johnny Bravo. Yeah well that was her. So she waddles on over to me and asks me my name and tells me to stick my arms out. I took one look at her and said, "NO."

Big Mexican: "No? What do you mean No?"

Me: "Exactly what it sounds like. No. You are not going to be the one to administer this blood test."

Big Mexican: "I'm sorry sweetie but you don't have a choice. This isn't a place where you can pick and choose who is doing your test."

Me: "YEAH it is. No offense or anything but I don't need your heavy handed ass trying to get anything out of my body. This is a job for someone with grace. And I'm just not convinced you can do that for me."

Big Mexican: "I've been doing this job for years. I have many employee appreciation certificates hanging on the wall. Me being overweight does not affect my ability to do my job."

Me: "No. When you were overweight I bet that didn't affect your ability to do your job. However, now that I see you passed that category a hundred pounds ago. I will not allow any obese person place their damn hands on me. Can't you see how fragile I am?"

Big Mexican: " How do you expect anyone to want to be gentle with you when you are so rude. I can't believe the things you said even came out of your mouth?"

Me: "Look I tried to be nice to you okay? I really tried to just say no. But it was you who chose to ramble on about the ability to do your job. What do you want me to say? This is not a small ordeal. Look in the mirror lady. You don't even have the ability to raise your arms long enough to fill in your mean ass uni brow with your damn sharpie marker without shaking and ruining your face. There is no way in hell I'm letting you come within a hundred yards of my arm with any needle in your hand. That petite friendly looking black lady will do just fine thank you. Please step aside."

So needless to say she was hurt off that. She started shaking and getting all red and what not. Sweating her eybrows off. I was so embarrassed for the poor girl. I'm sure this was the last place she thought she'd be judged for her size. Boy was she wrong.

So a few minutes later the friendly black lady comes by. She starts popping my arm and shit. We're both praying a vein will pop out just long enough for her to get this shit over with. She says, " Man now I see why you are so sensitive about your blood test. You have tiny veins." I almost cussed her out. No shit I have tiny veins. I have a tiny body. What do I look like having big as veins on this little body? Come on now.

So two viles of blood and a urine test later I'm out the door with three lollipops, two balloons, and five stickers looking like a damn kid. But I don't care. I just had a fuckin blood test done that I've been avoiding for weeks. This is a damn celebration. I get a refill on the prescription, I survived the blood test, and now mom's taking me to John's Burgers. It's a good ass day.

A few days pass and I went to get the mail. Another letter from Kaiser Premenente (sp). Damn. What else do they want? I just wanted to get my damn prescription in peace and they keep fuckin bothering my ass.

The letter reads:

Hi Celia. You have high cholesterol. Your number is 220 and that is high as shit. You need to lose 5-10 lbs., work out regularly, and stop eating John's Burgers everyday.

Okay, Okay that wasn't it word for word but it was along those lines.

Can you believe it? I have high fucking cholesterol. To make matters worse, they say I have to go back in three months to check my levels again. Which means another run in with the fat bitch.

So I'm eating better now. I haven't had anything fried and no fast food in a little over two weeks. My pockets are fatter from all this money I'm saving. And, with all these bowls of Cheerios I've been eating... the box says I'll lower my shit by four percent in 6 weeks. I'm trying to get an endorsement deal. So if any of you know anyone who works for General Mills shoot them my number.

23,811... 2,600 words left today... 14 days left... 76,187 words to go... I'll be back Mutha Fucka!!!

I'm BAAAACCCKKK!

"When I come back like Jordan wearin' the 4-5"

I'm back. And as my man Jigga said... like "Repeat-Three-Peat MJ" not that dude who was trying to revive a franchise. (But let's be honest I love him just the same).

I was planning on waiting until school started back to come back to this lovely place I call home. However, on my way to work today I was getting an itch to see who, if anyone at all, left me a comment on my blog saying something... anything, that I haven't read yet. Well to my surprise there was a comment left that almost made me run right off the freeway.

Comment # 1: I've been checking your blog almost everyday of summer to see if you are going to make your goal of 100,000 words by the end of the summer. (Obviously I'm not there yet since I've taken about two months off) I think you're weak for not committing to your goal.

Now that was the line that really got me. I mean, I actually got angry because someone had the nerve to call me weak for not "committing to my goal". I'm not even going to go into detail of the summer I've had, or what I've been doing for the past two months because really, when it comes to this writing thing, all of that is irrelevant. So, let's just say I'm back. And you better believe I'm going to be better than ever. I've crunched the numbers and did the math. I'm currently at 20,760 words and with exactly two weeks left of summer I have to write at least 5,660 words a day to reach my goal. Doubt me if you'd like, but just know I feed off of those who doubt me. So with that being said: I'm back.

Let me catch you up.

So for those of you who don't talk to me on a regular basis and have been missing all my sarcastic words and thoughts allow me to catch you up on what's been going on in my life.

Aside from all the usual friend drama, and me caring a bit to much for too many people my mini me has moved away. Yup. My one and only side kick, my little brother. I took him to CSUN three times in a four day period to get test taken, orientations done, and yes the dreaded move in day. His roommate has a car so he's of course stupid excited about that. His "girl" is living across the parking lot (finally one I approve of). And after calling him everyday of his first week he finally realized he can't live without me either. He loves one of his classes and that's more than any of us expected and practice starts in two weeks. I'm happy he has the opportunity I passed up and is doing exactly what he was born to do. Be a collegiate student athlete. I'm sure within the next month I'll be down there numerous times to visit, at least until school starts anyway. Speaking of school starting...

While I was waiting for those long agonizing four hours at lovely CSUN while my brother took his placement test, I did come very acquainted with the campus and figured out a way to keep my little close to me. Move there after graduation. Duh. Of course for the past year and some change I had my heart set on attending my favorite college, USC, and graduating from one of the best communications programs in America, but then I realized I don't want to be in debt $120,000 for two years of my education. So I came back to square one, graduation creeping up on me faster than I'd like it to and no direction in site. I roamed through the campus, looking for anything to do because the minutes were moving slower than molasses. I found my way to the Communications department to get some much needed information. I took a look at the program and fell in love, especially with the $4,000 a year tuition price. One of my dear friends and first boss in the wide world of full time jobs is the GM of my old home Hollister in Northridge so looks like all the pieces are falling right into place. So what do I do now? Bust my ass in these classes for the next year and a quarter and rack up as much extra curricular activities as possible. Finally I'm in a place where my priorities are straight and life is looking up.

Maybe that two month break was needed. I mean, sometimes you have to step outside of yourself to realize where you are or where you're going. Not to worry about those who don't matter and keep those who do close to you. That's where I am now. Keeping those who do matter close to me and keep on pushing through the next thirteen fourteen months of my life. These are going to be the most crucial. What I can do during this time, will tell the tale of the rest of my life. They will be the framework for this house I'm building and it's only up to me how strong it will be. Right about now, life is good and I'm happy.

Things happen for a reason.

I swear things always happen for a reason because these past two months everything has started making sense. What I'm supposed to do with my life, who's supposed to be there, why family is the most important thing to me. I'm just a big ass ball of excitement right about now and don't really know what to do with myself. It took my brother going to Northridge for me to figure out that is the best place for me to get my masters. It took my mother being sick for me to realize it's not so bad being home right now, and it took my grandmother being sick for me to know how to deal with my mom. I mean it's been a roller coaster of emotions for me these past few months and everything kind of just coming to head when I found out my Mom wasn't getting any better. I went from the hard exterior girl who never cries to the one who was crying if you even moved your mouth to say mom. You didn't even have to be talking about mine and I was crying. But like I said, things happen for a reason. Maybe my mom being sick was showing me that everyone is vulnerable. Even those who you look at as superheroes. God knows I think of my mom as so. I haven't quite figured out why Mom isn't getting better but look at the bright side, if she would have had Valley Fever in any other city in America she would be in even worse shape. Thank God she's in the city where it has the best specialist in the US. The only place it originates from. The good ol' Kern Valley. That's what I'm thankful for.

As far as friends go, I've been keeping my distance from them too. Partly because I'm going through this phase where I won't let my mom out of my sight. Partly because that's just me. Sometimes I need a break. I need to just be alone sometimes. I just want to relax and chill out. You know, watch The First 48 with a big bowl of pop corn by my damn self. I don't want to answer the phone. I don't want to go out. I just want to lounge in my PJ's and hit the sack by nine. Maybe that means I'm getting old...

My birthday.

It's my 23rd birthday kids. Well not today but in 21 days it will be. I'll be the big 2-3. I can't believe it. I'm so proud of myself. I'm in school. No kids. And I'm only 2 years away from being a quarter of a century. I feel wiser this year. I feel like I learned something the past year. Like the tattoo on my back makes sense now. I'm learning from the first 22 years and moving forward to make this 23rd a good one. I'm excited about this year to come.

Other things I've been working on.

Did any of you see the ESPY's? Well if you didn't, boy did you miss out. JT hosted the show and was hilarious. I'm pretty sure I watched it three or four times laughing just as hard as the first. But aside from being funny I did learn a thing or two that really catapulted me into my latest project. Tommie Smith and John Carlos received the Aurthur Ashe award. Now if you don't know who these guys are don't feel too bad because as much as I'm ashamed to admit it. I did not know who they were by name either. But does the 1968 Olympic games ring a bell? They are the two black men who thrust black gloved fist in the air during the national anthem and was consequently banned from the Olympics for life because if it. I was fascinated by the story and have really emerged myself in research since the airing of the show a couple months ago. (That's another reason why I've been absent) I took a trip to the library (more on that later) and really fell in love with the topic and their struggle. I've read four books and countless articles about the subject and really have been fortunate about the connections and the people willing to help me with this project. If all goes well I'll get to interview these guys and hopefully write one of the best pieces I've ever written. Senior Sem, here I come.

So as the cramps continue to ache my hands I'm leaving for now. I'll be back. Probably three or four times a day until my goal is met. And anonymous... I hope you keep reading. Nobody calls me weak and gets away with it.

22,435... 14 days to go... 77,565 words left...

Blacking them out.

Coming out of retirement.
I didn't even want to come back like this. Ranting and raving and angry. I try hard to not to let things bother me but it's hard. It's so hard. I don't know what it is or how its become that way but I continue to surround myself with fake ass, bum ass, stupid ass people. Being upset because they don't read my shit fails in comparison to the things that have been happening lately. I wish I could just go back to being mad about that. But no. Sorry. Life doesn't work that way. It throws big ass bricks at you when you aren't even looking. Damn life. Can't you at least call my name first so I can have a few seconds to sheild my face? Or do you like to throw heavy ass cinder blocks at my back? I learned a good lesson the other day... well hell this whole week for that matter. But it all started with my uncle telling me, "Celia you don't need many friends. If any at all. You see my friends (my mom and dad) I have four, Your mom and dad, and you and Chris by default. The older you get the less friends you have. Don't wait until you're my age to realize that." Damn. If that wasnt the best advice anyone's ever given me.

As of today I'm making a list of the bums I hang out with. And the way I'm feeling now its not going to take much to black them the fuck out. I mean really picture this... A big ass list of all my "friends" and as they fuck up I'm just going to take a big ass Sharpie marker, the biggest one they make, and cross their mutha fuckin name out. Scribble on that shit. Demolish it. I might run my marker back and forth so hard and so much I'll make one of those wet ass holes in the paper you did by accident when you were four coloring too hard. To be honest, the old me really wants to make the list here and now and list all the reasons I'm not friends with them anymore. But the new me is telling me: A. I'm above that, B. they wouldn't read the shit anyway, and C. They are so fucked up in the mind that the shit wouldn't even affect them.

One of my "friends"... kicked my ass to the curb for some bum who is controlling her life. BLACKED THE FUCK OUT.

One of my "friends"... has her own problems and is steady talking about mine to some grown ass women who know nothing about me. BLACKED THE FUCK OUT.

One of my "friends"... is the most judgemental person I know and I'm positive she's talking about me to the previous bum lets just say she's guilty by association. BLACKED THE FUCK OUT.

One of my "friends"... doesn't answer my calls, only calls me when she needs something, is super thirst and going out with some people she doesn't even like. BLACKED THE FUCK OUT.

Considering I don't have very many friends to begin with, the list is getting shorter by the day. I don't mind it. Honestly, I could care less. I just know I'm really going to go back to the old me and just not care at all about people. I didn't want to do that because I know the outcome. I'm going to be burnt that everyone relies on me and I have no one to rely on. But do you want to know what I learned? I don't need to rely not a mutha fuckin body. No one. And the minute I slip back into that mindset, I'll be happy. But like everything in life it comes with consequenses. I will be the BITCH who doesn't need anyone, who keeps everything to myself, who's stuck up, who's crazy. Me? No. Just remember it was the same mutha fuckas who will be judging me when I change that judged me before to make me this way. Fuck all of you. Real talk. I'm offically washing my hands of all of you bums. Donzo.

Phillip's Choice.

Talk about ass holes. Every computer I've worked on in the past two days have co-conspirited against me to ruin my goal. Yesterday, I was two topics away from finishing the blog and the damn computer wouldn't save. I stayed at work for a extra twenty minutes trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong. But, you know me and my ADD. I just didn't have the patience. I went home and knocked out because of course I had to be right back in this bitch a mere eight hours later. What kind of bum ass schedule is that? 6-11 then 7-12? Yeah PM then back eight hours later in the AM. Ain't that about a bitch?

So my friend, P. Barneez, gave me a list of topics today since I have officially ran out of things to write about. It's so frustrating sometimes because I get the sense I'm never going to make it to 100,000 if I don't have anything to say. So in order in which he gave them to me, here it goes.

I can tell the future.
Now I've said this time and time again that I can tell the future but no one seems to believe me. This isn't a trait I've had my whole life, however it is one I've been taught and I have refined over the past few years. It was my freshman year of college and I enrolled in Donald Lee's Fortune Telling class. Now for those of you who do are not familiar with Donald Lee, he is probably the most amazing person I know. He's humble, a real winner on the basketball court, and the best professor I've ever had. So, as I stated earlier, the past few years I've really been refining my skills. Let me take the time to clarify for you. I'm no Raven Baxter, I don't get those half ass visions that always end up being the exact opposite of what I see. Matter of fact, I don't get visions at all. It is just knowledge that jumps in my brain when I am asked a question. Any question. You can ask me anything you want and I'll have the answer, all thanks to Fortt 232. Just yesterday I dropped some knowledge on Phillip. His Kia was having some trouble like Blue, but Blue is back in commission and Kia is not. Phillip says he took Donald Lee's class but he's photoshopping. Because A: I never saw him in there and I know there was only one section, and one class. Period. And B: He didn't see this shit coming. So anyway, the Kia was breaking down or whatever, some sort of battery problem I guess, and he said that because he took it to the shop it was fixed and would never break down again. Please. I knew better than that. I had sharpened my skills so much he didn't even have to ask me a question. i just replied, "That's what you think." Well needless to say I was right. Just one day later, Kia broke down again, just like I said. Oh and get this the day after that, there was a hole in his coolant container thing a ma bob. So yeah, to make a long story short, I was right, but we knew that.

The demise of the Suns.
I’ve been procrastinating for months on writing this piece I guess when you have nothing left to write, you resort to that bank of things you’ve been meaning to write and haven’t. Well this topic just happened to be at the top of the list.

A while back I posted a blog about the infamous Shaq trade and the Pau trade. I had this amazing theory that the Suns were going to maintain the great team they were, and with the addition of Shaq make a legitimate title run. Well needless to say I was wrong. I hate to admit it but I was very wrong. It happens sometimes. Sue me.

I was positive the Shaq trade was the better trade. Positive. All the keys were there. The Suns were a next to perfect team, they ran the perfect offense, for them, and all they were missing was the inside presence. Shaq was supposed to fit the mold perfectly. Perfectly. Let’s just say he would have if I was coaching the team.

Where they went wrong.
It’s not hard to witness what happen to the Suns. They fell the fuck apart. They went thorough a, shall we say, identity crisis? Yes, that is it identity crisis. They thought that just because they have a big man, an aging one at that, they would drop the run and gun play that worked for them and play a half court set. Well, they were wrong.

What I would have done.
That shit is easy. Listen up. It only takes three people to run a successful fast break and anything over that amount is going to do nothing but clog the lanes. What does this mean? Leave Shaq’s big ass at the opposite basket and let him nap a little bit. He doesn’t need to run up and down the floor for them to be effective. His job is at one side of the court or the other, not both.

They lost their identity and that's all there is to it. If they would have remained the team they were prior to the big trade they would have been unstoppable. Shaq was not brought in to score he was brought in to be a 300 pound distraction. Shaq did his job. It was D'Antoni who didn't. And you all wonder why I'm happy he took that Knicks job. Please.

Fourth Graders.
I hate them. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them. It's like fourth grade is the exact time of loss innocence. It's the grade they give all the girls the period talk at school. (Do they do that anymore?) It's the grade where boys and girls miraculously get cured from the cooties. It's the exact time where baby bad asses turn to big bad asses. I know when I hit fourth grade I started to participate in sports, I had my first boyfriend, and I went from innocent Celia to the most arrogant bitch at Panama Elementary. I was the best thing walking on campus. My socks always matched my outfit and I was the only fourth grade girl beating on the boys in the high jump. Fourth grade was a pivotal moment for my track career. I remember to this day receiving the golden track shoe right alongside my fourth grade boyfriend and walking down the aisle of arrogance together. Getting the golden track shoe is a big fucking deal for those of you who don't know. That means I had more first place than anybody in the whole fourth grade (even though I know I had more points than the fifth and sixth graders too).

But enough about me. Fourth graders today are even worse. Two months ago my cousin was the sweetest thing walking. But yep you guessed it, she graduated from third grade and now she's headed to fourth and her swag is mean. She went from barbie dolls to a boyfriend, listening to Chingy and now a fucking Myspace. I don't think I was doing anything but Oregon Trail when I was in fourth grade.

My mom used to teach the fourth grade so trust me I've done my homework when it comes to 10 year olds. Actually I'm probably over qualified to write on this subject. I was hoping the kids in my moms class would change my mind, but they didn't. Every time I set foot through the door someone is giggling, smirking, or whispering. All of which gets on my nerves by the way. However there was this one kid. He was BAD. Every day I was there he would have his desk all by himself in the room. No group activity for him. He didn't mind. I would always catch him with his desk up looking at a Laker book, staring at the Laker girls. I knew he was down when he said he loved basketball. I thought to myself, this just might be the kid to change my perceptions. Boy was I wrong. One day he asked me, "Do you go to Cal State?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Wow. So do you know some of the guys on the basketball team?" he said.

"Yeah, actually I do. I'm pretty good friends with one of the guys," I responded.

"Zack Grasmic?" he said with awe.

I replied with a valiant, "NO! No I'm not friends with Get Trapped Zack."

He said, "Well why not? He is the best player on the team?"

"No. No he's not," I was almost stuttering I was so mad.

"You don't know ANYTHING about basketball if you don't think Zack is the best player." he muttered.

It took everything in my power not to slap his white ass.

"Look little kid, you are all of ten years old. You don't know a damn thing about basketball. I've got twice the years on you and twice the years in basketball experience as well so you better get on somewhere before you make me mad." I replied.

"Make you mad? You are already mad that I know more about basketball than you. Oh and Micheal Jordan sucks." Then he stuck out his tongue, and hit the tether ball and it swung around the pole and hit me in the back.

I must have chased his little ass down for minutes before I could catch him. After two knee surgeries I can't say I still have those fourth grade golden track shoe worthy legs anymore. Oh but I caught his little ass. And rubbed his face in the dirt until he took back what he said. Needless to say, my mom got fired. Me and white kids just don't get along.

Blank VHS tapes.
So I've decided I am going to be sweding all my stories. [Sweding is from the movie Be Kind Rewind. Jack Black and Mos Def are unlikely friends. Mos Def works at a video store ran by Danny Glover and they only rent VHS tapes. Well, crazy ass Jack Black thinks something is taking over his brain, magnetizes himself, and erases all of the videos in the entire store. In order not to get Mos Def in trouble they start shooting and recording their own versions of the movies and getting the community involved. It starts bringing back business to the store because everyone wants to star in a movie. Anyway a new copy of the movie is called the sweded version. Pronounced ssssss-weed-ed.] I mean, I think my stories are pretty hilarious don't you? Who wouldn't really want to watch a movie of me punching that white broad in the face the other day over that barbecue? Oh and don't even think about saying that previous story about the fourth grader wouldn't be hilarious. Oh and that story about my highlighting co worker. Come on. It would be great. Anybody want to star in one?

Osmosis.
Two words, one concept. Osmosis Jones.
Enough said.

Pajamas.
I am purchasing a pair of pajamas with the feet in them. That's right, I said it. I am purchasing a pair of pajamas with the feet in them. You know the ones with the flap in the back and the zipper all the way up the front. It's my girl's birthday next month and she's having a good old fashioned slumber party for the girls. You know, the works. Pizza, beer, hop Scotch, side walk chalk, scavenger hunt. The works. But to be honest what I'm most excited about is those pajamas with the feet in them. I'm just scared I won't be able to find any to fit me. Has anybody seen any that come in zero extra long?

Diddy. Puff. P.Diddy. Puff Daddy.
No Bitchassness.


P.S. Thank you to Chante and Shanyia for sending me a text asking where's my blog. You are the ones who keep me on top of my game and for you I am grateful. I love you guys!




Until thoughts meet words...

( 20,065 words and counting...)

Still not happy but here it goes... Jigga Man.

Just a reminder that Blue is getting fixed today! I'm going to be back in action for real. And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.

In response.
Now I still haven't finished Fade to Black and I probably won't get to it any time soon because I loaned the movie out to a bigger fan than me. However, after yesterday's comments on my blog about Kingdom Come being a disappointment I am forced to defend what I believe in. So Zach, listen up, or read up rather.

Kingdome Come. (the KING DONE COME back.)
After a three year hiatus the king has come back. In the sense I'm writing this in '06 of course. All the same he's back and with two albums post retirement I can say each of them were works of art. Now we all know I'm not a Lil Wayne fan nor am I a Laker fan so it is safe to assume that I am not some crazy fan that likes everything the guy puts out. I have some rhyme and reason to my madness and frankly I just recognize the truth. I will resume my quest with Reasonable Doubt but I feel it necessary to start with Kingdome Come because of the pure skepticism of it all. So without further ado. Here it goes.

An overview of the album.
Jay-Z went out on the top of his game. The critically acclaimed Black Album is and always will be held at a high regard in fans and non believers alike. There are so many things that were right on that album and most importantly, it was fitting of the time in which it was made. How can anybody not say the same for Kingdom Come? I am more than sure people forget what was going on during those three years in between solo studio albums they refuse to recognize and accept Jay changed during that time. He grew older, he grew wiser, and he grew money. With more time on his hands jumpstarting careers of people with the likes of Rihanna and attempting to re launch the careers of people like Ludacris and LL Cool J, all of which are on Def Jam, he had more time to fine tune who he is or was and go through a much needed maturation process. For eight years prior he made a studio album every summer and released it in the winter, it was like clock work. So I am more than sure a break was needed. However, I do not believe that he knew at the time he was just taking "a break." With everything that someone is passionate, it is almost impossible to step away from something you love. Look at Michael Jordan and Michael Jackson. Even though they departed at the top of their game, when they see a void is missing it is their duty to fill it, as did Jay-Z. I guess what I'm getting at is there is no way Jay could have come back rapping about the same things he was before because he was in a different place in his life. The album was produced well, and I don't hear many people arguing with that, but what I do hear is many so called fans disappointed with his lyrics and his style when if they really studied this growth there would be no refutation. Jay-Z could not put out another Black Album. That was out of the question.

The Prelude.
Is there a better way to start a come back album? I think not. He's answering each and every one of your questions. He's explaining in a few hundred words the exact reason he's back. No, he doesn't necessarily want to be there. He makes it perfectly clear he's over it. [I've been through with this bullshit game but I never quit] But as I stated earlier, when it’s something you love, it's impossible to stay away. Let alone when what has become of it, is satisfactory at best. The set up is very reminiscent of Dear Summer. I always knew that song was the prequel to an album that wasn't released yet. Now I have my proof. Without saying it in so many words, Jay is talking to rap, to rappers, to the audience, explaining in a more aggressive way why he left and why he's back and why he doesn't really have to be here in the first place. On this track his flow is every different than anything on the Black Album. He is more aggressive than I've seen him in a very long time. This song represents the table of contents. It is laying out the frame work of what is to come next. I looked at each track on this album as chapters, some that he is revisiting and some that are new and he is trying to share with us.

Favorite Line: So I would write it if y'all could get it/Bein' intricate'll get you wood, critic/On the internet, they like you should spit it/I'm like you should buy it, nigga that's good business.

Oh My God.
I don't love this song, but I like it. I think it fits well in the composition of the rest of the tracks. I like the hook and the beat to the song. The hook is reminiscent of the Hovi baby remix, the girl’s voice anyway. Just another chapter of the book he is writing. It's typical Jay-Z. Rise through the trap game to what he is now. How he hopes he'll never go back. And how he's saying sorry to his mom for all the pain he may have caused her during the rough times. Then of course he resorts right back to who he is and how you can't deny his greatness. As I said typical Jay-Z. I really like the play on words in the last verse with the CNN ESPN line.

Favorite Line: Now I'm knee-deep in the concrete/Like the streets made of quicksand beyond deep/I got a chemical romance, two left feet/So I dance with the devil, please G.O.D/Save me from the black parade release me.

Kingdom Come.
Call me corny, but I liked this song. It has the perfect super hero beat, it was well thought out and clever. I think the beat sounding like a super hero's theme song paired with the super hero lines at the end of each verse was genius. There is not much else to say that you can't figure out by listening.

Favorite Line: Just when they thought it was all over/I put the whole world on my back and broad shoulders/The War-Hova, but who you know took over tracks like that/Guess what New York, New York - we back.

Show me what you got.
There isn't a better first single to release than this. The drums are ridiculous. The flow is ridiculous. The video is ridiculous. It's exactly what it should have been, classic grown up Jay with a twist. I just don't understand how someone could not like this song. Not only that, but say it's not Jay-Z enough. Like I said before dude was in a total different place in his life during this album and the last, if he was rapping like Reasonable Doubt people would say it’s forced. So here he is rapping about what he knows, what his life is like right now, vaca's and shit, and he gets the disappointment card.

Favorite Line: Give the drummer some/already gave the summer some/It’s the winter’s turn/Hovi Hov is the coldest/I’m just getting better with time/I’m like Opus…

Lost One.
I really love this song. This might be tied for my favorite on the album. It’s very sentimental and taps into a part of Jay we don't see too often. In the first verse he really told the story of the issues between him, Dame, and Biggs. He gave a good bye to what was and looked forward to what is without them. He was heartfelt but at the same time there was not a single time he let his guard down. In the second verse, he speaks about B. Who knows what was going on in his personal life during that point but it was a very grown up way to word it. The last verse is probably the most heartfelt of them all. Speaking to his deceased nephew in verse three really touched me because that's not something you hear him speak on often. I'm not so sure I would have released this as a single but either way you slice it, it works. Oh, and Chrisette Michelle did wonders on the hook.

Favorite Line: Close my eyes and squeeze, try to block that thought/Place any burden on me, but please, not that lord/Time don't go back, it go forward/Can't run from the pain, go towards it.

Do you wanna ride?
This is another one of those I didn't want to like at first but it grew on me. The narraration of the song can almost be missed if you don't listen to it enough. Never once does he stray from the conversation at hand. He is playing the main character and the narrator all at the same time. He has a clever way of creating ties at home by talking to Emory and boasting about his riches and new opportunities. Well done.

Favorite Line:Comin up though we thought slingin raw/was the end all be all of bein rich didn't we/Little did I know my mo' potent delivery/would deliver me, kingpin of the inkpen.

30 Something.
I am almost positive the only reason I like this song is because I saw him perform it live. Other than that he could have cut the album without it. It does send a much needed message to let people know he's not getting old and he's certainly not losing it. However, I still won't play this on repeat.

Favorite Line: I’m a bully with the bucks/don't let the paten leather shoes fool you young'n, I got the fully in the tux/that was my past now I'm so grown up/I don't got one gun army, got a slum army/to hire a gun army, get you spun like laundry/and I'll be somewhere under palm trees calmly.

Hollywood.
Hated it. Hated it, hated it, and hated it. But, it grew on me. When I first bought the album I listened to this song and was very upset. However, due to a few trips to the city with my girls, this song was obviously made for me and that moment. I can't listen to Hollywood anymore without reminiscing about that trip and those times. So do I mind if you don't like this one? No what's one out of fifteen?

Favorite Line: When your fame starts/It's a chain reaction/Locomotion like when the train departs/Stranger/Things have happened/Rapping/Stacking/Platinum plaquin'/Born in Brooklyn got a place in Manhattan/Going back to Brooklyn/To escape the madness.

Trouble.
Wow. This is another tie for my favorites on the album. This really taps into that "beef" that was going on around the time of the album's release and recording. He is telling all these dudes to step back, he's back. Not only is he speaking directly at them, he is using such metaphoric language. It's easy to spend hours and hours writing things down, but all of this comes off the top of his head. Metaphorically speaking, I think it’s his best since Meet the Parents. I don't know how anyone could not appreciate the art and thought that was put into a song about some bums that don't even matter. The scary part is this was effortless.

Favorite line: The whole song.

Dig A hole.
Another tied for my favorite. Actually it is possibly inching out the others for first. I think what people fail to realize is all of the singles he put out were about fluff and girls and cars and money. However there are more than enough songs on this album that tap into who he was pre Black Album. He is really dedicating numerous songs to let people know he's not coming back to play he's coming back to work. He showed the growth with the singles and kept old fans with songs like this one. This is just like trouble. Get at 'em Jay.

Favorite Line: The whole song.

Anything.
Of course he must have one club type track on each record and this is it. It’s very catchy as always, and I'm more than positive would have done well if released as an early single. Usher did his job and Jay did his job. What more can I say? (No pun intended.)

Favorite Line: Red light,TLC, through the Left Eye, my P.O.V./ On the ichat, how's that for computer love?/ She rolled her eyes back, I'm like Ooo, you so nasty/You turned my Maybach back seat in to the Hotel de Paris.

I made it.
It's corny. I didn't like it at all. I mean it speaks to a lot of people, young black men, who are rising above the adversity and paying homage to the stable figure in the black community the mother. I know a few cats that hold this song dear to their heart because of their situation. I personally can't relate. I'm a woman, and I haven't really had much adversity to fight through to be honest. I skip this track.

Favorite Line: Hooray, it's the underdog now, my feat under desk/I'm the presidential favorite/ can’t believe I got away with my earlier stages/ to being on stages, havin my way with the world.

Minority Report.
This was a much needed record in the light of the catastrophic events in the South. He used this time as an attempt to apologize and reconcile what happened (you'll see in my favorite line). Don't think I would have gone with Neo on this one, only because I can't stand his ass (Sorry Shanyia!! =/). Although this is not my favorite song on the album, it is the one that is most needed and plays the largest part outside of the record. He was very blunt and very real as always. But hey, what can you expect?

Favorite Line: Sure I ponied up a mill, but I didn't give my time So in reality I didn't give a dime, or a damn I just put my monies in the hands of the same people that left my people stranded. (Really I couldn't pick one. I just picked this one for Gary Payton.)

Beach Chair.
My favorite. This is my absolute favorite. This song is second on my all time favorite songs my Shawn Jay-Z Carter. If you really listen to what he's saying in this song he makes himself vulnerable. Now we all know that is not something Jay does. He is such a private person I'm surprised I know as much about him as I do. Please if you do not read another word I write, listen to Beach Chair and learn something. Learn what being humble means. This was the perfect ending to the album. He spends all this time telling a story amongst all the tracks starting with the most arrogant of them all, the prelude, and finishing with what I deem as a humble ending.

Favorite Line: The whole song.

P.S. No I didn’t count the Jay lines.

(18,044 words and counting... almost 20% of the way there!! =])

Speaking of ___________

Congrats to the Celts.
Wow. They pulled it off. I was a little nervous after game five but they went home and handled their business. I'm happy for them. More than anything I'm happy the Lakers didn't win. Not because I don't like them, but because I'm convinced they are going to win it for the next four seasons to come. I wanted someone to get one in first. Next year can be their year, but obviously not now.

Speaking of basketball...
I don't know what I'm going to do with no games to watch. For the past eight months I've had something to watch or some game to attend. Summer is here which means SayNo games will be starting soon. And Blue is getting fixed tomorrow which means I'll be attending those games. Oh and the Olympics is this summer! Which means there will be just a few more televised games for me to enjoy. After that I'll just be sad for the next few months. So please, do me a favor and don't mention anything about basketball to me for while. I just might cry.

Speaking of Blue getting fixed!
I'm more than happy my car is getting fixed tomorrow. At 1:20pm I will be the happiest person alive. I've been so hindered with my car being bummy I didn't know what to do with myself. I might take a trip to LA tomorrow just because I can. Okay, maybe not. But still. I want to. I guess just knowing I have the power to now is enough. It's going to run me my whole economic stimulus check. But hey, shit happens.

Speaking of LA.
For those of you who do not know my little brother just signed his national letter of intent to Cal State Northridge. I'm so happy for him. He is so excited, as am I. He will do nothing but grow while he's out there and let me be the first to say he has a lot of that to do. I figured since he's graduated from high school now and will be leaving in a few months I would take him on a trip to LA with me. Since I really like this girl he's into I decided she could come to, since they are both attending Northridge in the fall. We will head to "the city" and I'll show them around the spots I used to go to. I'm thinking we'll head to Venice for a bit, have lunch at El Unico, and maybe cap off the night with a movie at The Bridge. It should be a fun time. Just my little bro and me. Oh and that chick. Just kidding Lauren! You know I love you! =]

Speaking of Venice...
I think it's time I got another tattoo. I already have one but I'm more than sure it's about time for another. Venice is probably the best place to get one because of the atmosphere. I had so much fun when I got my first. I was living in the dorms at the time and decided today was the day for a tattoo. I drove over to a place in town and decided it was a bad idea. Just getting my first tattoo in Bakersfield didn't seem like the best thing to do. So, in the middle of the day I just took off to Venice. I had no clue what tattoo shop to go to so I just walked right into the first one I saw and handed him my picture. Less than ten minutes later I was lying down on the bed getting inked up. So exciting. Thirty minutes passed and I had crossed over from good girl to bonafide badass. Now beat that.

Speaking of tattoos...
Okay this one is a stretch but bear with me. I was watching television a little while ago and I happened to be flipping through the channels. Well I stumbled upon the history channel and it was one of those specials on body mutilation. You know the ones with the people who tattoo their body to look like a cheetah or add all those weird piercing to look even weirder than their personality is in the first place. Well for whatever reason this captured my attention. So as I pick up the remote and get ready to turn the channel this commercial comes on for some new show they are having titled The Girl with Eight Limbs. I kid you not. This girl looks like a fucking octopus. I know its wrong of me to bag or to laugh. But that shit was hilarious. It was almost as funny as midgets are to me. Something about deformities is hilarious. Well when I don't see them in real life anyway. Because I know a few guys who are missing fingers and what not and that shit scares me half to death.

Speaking of midgets...
I also had the pleasure of watching a show on the WE network called the secret lives of Women. I guess it takes these women who have double lives and exposes them. I've never seen it before but it was kind of interesting. For this particular episode they were exploring the secret lives of extremely tall, extremely short, and extremely big women. The girl who was "extremely tall" was only six five. I guess I say only six five because I am so consumed in basketball that six five is nothing major. I'm used to seeing a whole bunch of big bitches on the court. The extremely big women were extremely big and that's all I have to say about that. Where the show got hilarious was with the extremely short women. They were documenting a few midgets and their lifestyle. They showed them in their house and pretty much their day-to-day activities. Well I'm talking on the phone as I'm watching this and I was saying how every midget uses the elevator because there is no way they can walk up the stairs. I've never seen it happen before I don't think it exists. Well as I'm saying this, the midget happened to be standing in front of a two-story house. After I said that Phillip asks if that's her house. I said yes. He said well how do you think she gets up the stairs in her own house. Of course maintaining my theory to the death I simply stated that there has to be an elevator in there, that or she's never been on the second story of her house. He says midgets can't afford elevators. I say sure they can, every midget I know is an entertainer. They are always in movies and TV shows. If they can afford a two-story house they can afford an elevator. Phillip not ever wanting to be wrong says something along the lines of elevators are not allowed to be in brick houses and his uncle is architect and that's how he knows. Well fuck you and your uncle because I've seen plenty of brick mansions with elevators in them. Plenty. Well I was pretty confident in my argument until they cut to the last scene of the show. They showed the midget walking up the stairs to what I think was her house. It was hilarious that she waddled up the stairs but I was mad my theory was busted. Well almost. Anytime I find myself in a bind I always have a secret weapon. I am more than convinced they photo shopped that scene and she never walked up those stairs. The things people will do for television now days.

Speaking of phone conversations...
I received a phone call from my friend Chante. She is by far one of the most hilarious people I know. I promise you there is never a dull moment with this girl. Well anyway during our short phone conversation we got a lot accomplished. Of course being an avid basketball fan she called to talk about the game. She wanted to let me know everyone on myspace was posting all these bulletins about the Celtics winning and boo Lakers and what not. Here's a quote from the conversation, "All these mutha fuckas posting these damn boo Laker bulletins and shit. These mutha fuckas know they haven't watched a game in their damn life. They just heard from somebody they know and want to post a fuckin bulletin." I kid you not. The girl is hilarious. And to be honest she's right. All these bandwagon fans can kiss my ass. Shout out to Chante for being a realistic Laker fan. I miss you!

Speaking of missing...
I'm missing some sleep right now so I'm going to go one ahead and get some. Today was better than yesterday but still worse than the day before. It happens. Like Zach said, I don't want to get too comfortable with my writing. Shout out to Zach for that good advice and being a Jay fan. Oh by the way, I'm sure you are reading this I will be responding to your Kingdom Come comment tomorrow. Stay tuned.

Until thoughts meet words… I'm out.

(15,902 words and counting… Lefty I already caught your ass.)

It's another one of those days. One's where I follow up something I loved with something I hate. I haven't even started yet and I can already tell I'm not going to be very pleased with what I write. Might as well jump right into it.

Bridezillas.
Man this show is fucking hilarious. I just want to know when it went from a white show to a black show. I'm not kidding. The last five or six episodes I've seen were nothing but super ghetto black people.

On this particular episode there is this big, ashy, dark skinned girl with a gap. However, she is not the bride. She is the wedding planner. I guess she is one of the bride's friends that is trying to become a wedding planner, so she offered to plan the wedding for free to gain some much needed experience. The bride is soooo hoooooood! (in the t-pain voice) She is from Houston and every time she opens her mouth there are captions that show up at the bottom of the screen. I find that to be hilarious and racist. Just because they have an accent doesn't mean they have to add the captions on the bottom of the screen for everyone to read. I don't see them doing that for the slew of English host for just about every damn show on television. I can't understand a fucking word that bitch says on "So you think you can dance?" Anyway, the hood ass bride is arguing with her dark ass wedding planner for just about the entire episode. I'm pretty sure they get in a shoving match at some point.

The reception is nothing I've always dreamed mine to be, but I can't say I even have a vision. So the thirty minutes is up and thankfully the next episode continues with yet another super ghetto black bride and finishes up with Kenya and Roland. Kenya's wedding dress has cut outs on the side like those girls from LA's prom dresses. You know the ones I’m talking about. Thank the lord she doesn’t have waterfall curls or banana peels on top of her head. Every scene in this episode Kenya has a new weave from dirty nappy ponytails to long silky and a blonde. Look kids if you don’t purposely tan, do not color your hair blonde. Roland has to be my favorite of the night. He is wearing a Kangol hat and all white. Did I tell you guys I hate seeing guys in all white at a wedding? I mean its bad enough half these hos walking down the aisle are wearing white but you know his ass isn't a virgin. I am almost positive he's Mexican but trying to pass for black. Maybe he's Puerto Rican. They're black right? Anyway he's sagging his pants and he bought his shirt from the big and tall store and dude is all of five six on a good day, with heels on. Speaking of which, this dude has on the most hood Stacy Adams I've ever seen. They have a little baby heel on the back to make him a little taller than Kenya. He didn't bother to conceal his tear drop tattoos on the corner of his eye, but I guess I wouldn’t either if I knew who was attending the reception. The place they are having their reception looks like the YMCA. There are five or six tables, people shooting dice in the corner, and a guy with a 2X tall white-t on. There is a big woman in a jean skirt and jean jacket and the wedding planner is getting ashier by the moment.

By the end of the show Kenya is crying and just wants to go home and Roland is happy he came up on some money during the dice game. Roland’s brother ended the show by giving a toast. Whoever has the job of writing the captions didn’t know what the hell Roland’s brother was saying because underneath every phrase was question marks. I guess I'm kind of mad that I'm watching this because its stereotypical black people doing what they do best, acting ignorant. But it’s something like a train wreck you don't want to watch but you can't keep your eyes off it.

On writing late.
I've noticed that after each post I'm happy with I tend to just run out of gas. I can't ever write two blogs back to back I'm happy with. It’s really frustrating but I'm sure that will come with time. Another thing I've noticed is whenever I don’t have anything great to say I'm always up late forcing something out. I'm not even home right now, writing on my phone forcing something out. Because I know, the minute I get home I'm going to try and "rest my eyes" and we all know that doesn’t work. I'll fall asleep and then BAM! 8:30. No post.

On accomplishing goals.
Obviously I am going to do exactly what I set out to do, but day by day it seems as if it gets harder and harder. A goal of 100,000 words is ambitious but 100,000 words about something you haven’t even thought up yet is hard. I don’t think I can handle too many more of these bummy blogs if I want to improve. It feels like two steps forward and two steps back. I just hope I can end up all the way around the track by summers end. Shout out to my friend for setting a goal for himself too. He’s trying to make 35,000 shots this summer. I think he said he was at 562. I’ll keep you guys posted on his success. I told him about my goal and he said that was easy. When we got off the phone he asked me what my total was. I told him around 13,000 he said, “Cool. So by the time I call you back I’ll have that many a’s on a page. You said words right?” I offered to rebound for him for five hundred makes. He better help me out with some of these damn topics.

On Jay-Z.
I’m very surprised that 10 post in and still no Jigga Man. I’ve actually started writing about him but couldn’t keep it because it just wasn’t right. It’s kind of like writing about basketball for me. I don’t ever want to half step. But isn’t that with everything? I watched half of Fade to Black today. Once I actually finish the movie I will definitely get started on my why Jay-Z matters segment. I’m actually pretty excited about it. I haven’t seen the movie in a very long time so it just reminded me why I love Jay so much, and why that’s still one of my favorite movies. I am almost positive I’m going to start with Reasonable Doubt. You know, explain the significance, and run down some difficult lines, the whole nine. So keep a look out.

2:14 am.
I’m heading to bed now. With maybe 1,200 words today, and each of them worthless, I refuse to waste any more time and words. I guess since today was bad tomorrow will be great.

Until thoughts meet words…
(I’m doing away with the Peace and Love, too cliché)

(14,372 words and counting... )

A list of 1-11.

Today is the first day I've actually printed out my post and proof read it. I hope it reads better than the previous days.

Bricks for Breakfast.

It's 7am and I'm at work. For you new readers, I love my job because I can read and write here with little interruption. But at the same time, I hate my job because no matter what it is everyday someone is cussing me out. For instance, I've only been here for about 20 minutes and I have already been yelled at about some syrup. Syrup. I wish I was making this up. But I'm not. There is guy standing right in front of me, staring me down and waiting for someone to bring him some syrup. I'm sure the greatest skill I ever learned was to type without looking because now I am enjoying this moment. I'm enjoying looking his punk ass in the face with the most sinister smirk I am able to concoct, while he's stuck there eating a dry ass waffle. Have you ever had a waffle with no butter and no syrup? That shit is like a brick. It's just like biting into a big red brick. I almost feel bad for the dude. Or not. I just took the walkie and radioed whoever is the syrup lady for today. Little does he know i never pushed the button. He'll finish that brick before anyone will know the syrup is missing.

The Irritation Crayon

It seems as if I am easily irritated. There is just something in my genetic make up that makes just about everything everyone does, irritate the fuck out of me. I am trying to work on this and they say the first step to recovery is to recognize the problem. So 11,000 words in and with seven frosties under my belt here's the crayon I never wanted. Irritation.

I imagine Irritation to be one of the ugliest crayons in the box. Maybe some cross between maize and forest green. There is no need for a color like that in life, so I found that description to be fitting. Let's run down a list of things that irritate me.

1. Hard boiled eggs.
I cannot stand hard boiled eggs. Really, what is the point of them? They smell like shit. I'm sure they taste like shit (no I've never had one). And to be honest they just plain annoy me. It's not the egg itself that annoys me because I am a firm believer in two eggs scrambled hard with cheese. It is simply the way its prepared and the people who eat them. They are so irrational. Who told them hard boiled eggs were a "carry around" snack? As most of you should know my brother was in the California State Meet. Well being the supportive sister I was, I sat in those hard ass concrete bleachers to cheer him on (Most of the time too loud and too often.) Let me be the first to tell you I have no ass what so ever so trust me it was a big deal to sit there for hours on end. Well anyway, to make matters worse, there is this old ass black woman sitting next to me yelling for Long Beach Poly. "POLY! POLY!" she'd scream. That's not even the worst part. In between her rants and raves she busted out a clear sandwich bag full of hard boiled eggs. Eww. I was praying she'd finish that bag before the 4x1 started but God must have been on a break. The race started and she wasn't even half way through that cloudy bag. I was already gaging just by the smell of the least appetizing snack on earth. I guess she was mad at me because my kicks were clean she decided to yell POLY with the eggs present in her mouth. Yes, in her mouth. I'm sitting next to her mad as shit, wondering what I did to deserve this. She must have had her hearing aid up on maximum volume because as I'm whispering to my mom about how mad I am this old bitch was eating hard boiled eggs all in my nose, I turn around to find her staring at me. I look up at her and she takes a big bite, yolk and all. Then while she has her beatty eyes fixated on me, she starts yelling "POLY! POLY!" again but this time some of her egg flew out of her mouth and onto my jacket. It took everything in my power not to knock this old bitch out. My mom had to physically restrain me. I know she purposely spit those eggs on me. If not but ten minutes later there was this guy throwing up gang signs rooting for Poly, I would have clocked her ass.

2. Dirty sneaks.
"Yo those are 10's. But I keep 'em clean tho."
No, that quote does not have anything to do with sneakers. But, let's be honest, that's the way we all should think. By no means am I stating you need the tip top of the line shoes because I know most cannot afford them. However, whether you buy your shoes from Footlocker or Payless, keep them clean. There is nothing less attractive about a guy, or a girl for that matter who continuously wears dirty kicks. I mean have you ever met that someone in a club that is just perfect. The conversation is there, what you can hear of it anyway, the outfit is there, nice shirt, nice jeans, then BAM! Fucked up kicks. That is a deal breaker for me. There's no way in hell I'm dating you if you have some busted ass sneakers. The way I see it is this, I don't spend all the time I do to make sure my kicks are clean to talk to you with some muddy ass sneaks. I just don't do it. A few months back I did a survey amongst my friends. You know, one of those "would you rathers?" I asked them would you rather date a guy/girl with a lisp or busted ass kicks? No you can't buy them any shoes and no there is no cure for his/her lisp. I had a overwhelming response of people who said the shoes was a deal breaker. My explanation for it all was this: If you saw me and my man walking through the mall you wouldn't be able to tell he had a lisp, but you sure would notice those busted ass shoes.

3. People who hand me balled up money
Oh God. I can't stand when people hand me balled up money. Unfortunately for me, for the past six years I've worked a job that required taking money from people. Just today I encountered that problem. There are a slew of Jehovah's Witness that are staying in my hotel. A slew of them. (Side note: I didn't know Jehovah's Witness had such a high black population. I mean I've never see them on the bikes or knocking at my door. Go figure).Well there was this black woman named LouAnne who had the nastiest weave/wig I've ever seen. LouAnne looked like Thelma from Good Times but shorter, and a bit thinner. She was a bit older too. Well LouAnne wanted to pay cash for four rooms she was paying for. I gave her the total on each individual room and she proceed to count out the cash she owed me. I know with age your skills decline, but it took her about seven minutes to count out the correct amount of money and she had mostly big bills. After she finally came up with the proper amount, and I woke up from my nap, she presented me with a soggy wad of wrinkled bills. I didn't even want to touch the money it was so nasty. Now to me, money is gross by itself. No amount of moisture is needed to gross me out. I had to untangle the bills, recount them, and give her her proper change. Talk about sad day. That's already two people to piss me off and its not even nine yet.


4. Children that walk on their toes.
I remember when I first went to swimming lessons. I may have been about four or five, maybe even younger than that. My mom couldn't swim so she obviously couldn't teach me. So I was forced to attend swimming lessons with Calves McGee. Now of course that was not her real name but I'm sure she acquired it by the age of six. I hated this girl. Everything about her drove me nuts. From her round stomach protruding out of her one piece to her strappy sandals that still bother me to this day. You know the one's middle aged white men wear with a crisp pair of khakis? I may have been all of forty pounds back then and she was fat with calves, something I've always lusted for. The calves by the way, does anybody really lust after being fat? So anyway, I found out much later why this young girl had such perfectly shaped calves, for what I thought was a nuisance, turned out to be why she had the best legs in the whole third grade. She walked on her toes. She bounced when she walked and she walked on her toes. The heel of her shoe never made contact with the ground. I looked. I flipped her little sandal over and looked. It looked like a strength shoe. Dirty at the top and pristine at the bottom. I hated it. I still hate it.

5. Being put on hold.
I hate to be put on hold. I'm almost positive it's my ADD that will not allow me to be patient enough to wait for people when they place me on hold. It's so selfish of me though because I tend to put people on hold often and for lengthy amounts of time as well. When I'm at work, I don't even say hold on. I just set the phone down and go on about my business. I'm thankful for those who are patient with me. However, I do not see my patience growing in the future.

6. People mis-pronouncing my name.
I touched on this a bit yesterday but its not even eleven yet and my name has been butchered quite a few times. Let me run down the list of names you should never call me if you don't want to get karate chopped in the throat:
1. Celica
2. Cecelia
3. Priscilla
4. Julia
5. Stacy
6. Silly
7. Cece

Yes, I put Cece on there. I've come to the conclusion I do not like that name anymore and would like to never be called that again. Ceese is fine. I like that. I even like Kyle. That is probably my favorite. However, just plain Celia will do.

7. Mexicans allowing their children to run rapid and bother other patrons.
I kind of touched on this a few post back. I am sure there is more than one race of people who allow their children to run all over the place. But, I haven't seen it. I haven't had the privilege of witnessing anyone other than Mexican running children. I just got back from lunch and today unlike others I chose to sit inside Carl's Jr. and eat. I hate Carl's Jr. I cannot bring it upon myself to respect any fast food restaurant that serves a Captain Crunch milkshake (No joke, check the menu.) Anyway, so I was sitting down attempting to enjoy my western cheese burger on sourdough while reading Sex Drugs and Cocoa Puffs when I was rudely interrupted by a little Mexican with no shoes on and ketchup all over his face and hands. This little bastard had on a soccer jersey and a diaper. First of all he was way to big to be wearing a diaper. If you can walk, fuck that, if you can run, you don't need to be in anybodies pampers. Real talk. Well, he took his little grubby fingers and rubbed them on my leg. I stared him down and then looked at his parents and said,"What is your problem? Aren't you going to get him." I know they heard me but they didn't say a thing. They didn't even bother to look up from their criss cut fries. I almost kidnapped his little ass and threw him in the back of my hot ass trunk. But I figured they'd never miss him. Would they even know that he was gone? They have a lot of about 50 of them waiting in the wings. One goes missing the other is there for the replacement. Can I have the stand in for little Jose meet me at center stage?

8. Losing at anything.
I hate to lose. I think losing is for chumps and we all know I'm not that. I'm so competitive it's ridiculous. I am halfway sure I was so mad for not writing 350 words the other day because I don't want Phillip to beat me to 100 thou. I want to get their first. I stood in line for hours with my mom for the iPhone because I had to be the first one to get it. I've been playing Guitar Hero night in and night out over and over again until I get one hundred percent on all the songs. When I play any game, be it dominoes, checkers or cards, I will not leave wherever I'm at until I've won. That's just my nature to always want to be the best. I've ended friendships with people because I couldn't beat them. When I was a freshman in high school I played BHS in a basketball game that went into four overtimes. I single handily forced four overtimes. We lost. You know what I did? I said fuck this I'm not losing anymore, and transferred my happy ass to the school. If you can't beat them, join them, either that or just stop being friends. Lefty if you beat me, guard that neck because I'm coming for the Adam's apple.

9. Jelly Sandwiches
Jelly Sandwiches don't exist. I've never had one but I know a few people who swear by them. Its toast. It's two pieces of toast with jelly in the middle. That is not a sandwich. Jelly sandwiches, or the lack there of, really work my nerves. I'm tired of people telling me they exist and they are sooooo good. They're not. Lefty keeps telling me I have to try one and I'll never know if its good or not if I've never tried it before. Well let me tell you, I've never been punched in the face but I know its going to hurt. I don't have to taste everything to know it won't suit me. Get off my jock. Please and thanks.

10. People who aren't passionate.
Be passionate about something. It doesn't matter what it is. It could be socks for all I care. But people with no passion have no more room in my life. I am constantly exerting unnecessary frustration on people who have no passion because they cannot fathom why I am so passionate about the things I do. Those who lack passion lack drive and determination and therefore are destined for meritocracy. Do us all a favor and find something you are passionate about. If everybody had a passion and they all strive for it, there would be a lot more successful people walking around.

11. Laker Loving Lil' Wayne Fans.
You almost never see one without the other. If they're a Laker fan they love Weezy. If they love Weezy they love the Lakers. They go together like peanut butter and jelly, but I wish they were more like those non existent jelly sandwiches I love so much. Being a Jay fan and a Chicago fan I don't see the logic in either. Laker loving Wayne fans are just stuck on some guys dick. Whether it be Kobe or Weezy F. Baby himself, they don't see the big picture. Weezy fans are the epitome of bandwagon. They are just as bandwagon as anybody who puts on a "Beat LA" shirt today. These new school Laker fans are bandwagon too. They joined when Kobe came, or rather when that nigga got good. These 08' Laker fans are the same guys who were big fans of Chicago in the 90's. Same goes for Wayne. Most of these Wayne fans are fans now because Jay retired and it's popular to like the dread head now. People will do anything to be popular now a days. Well I'll tell you what. Being the original Bulls loving Jay fan, we don't need you. If you're ready to jump ship that fast, you weren't down in the first place. So kick rocks. Barefoot.

Peace and Love

P.S. Happy Father's day Dad!! =]

(2,819 words today kids... Lefty I'm comin' for that ass =] 13,153 and counting...)

Reaching 10,000

Today was a bad day for blogging.

Let me warn you now that today wasn’t my best. I was too distracted to even force something out. As always there are bits and pieces I love. But more than anything, I’m just happy to get some words out. Also, I’m very impressed with the feedback on my last blog. Thank you again to all those who are the support I need. Anyway… happy reading. =]

Celia.

I don’t want to change my name, any more than I want people to pronounce it correctly. I consider myself to be one who enunciates her words, but if that’s the case then why does Celia turn in to Julia, or Priscilla? Cece turns into Stacey. Some people’s listening skills are beyond me.

Guitar Hero and Migraines.

I’ve come to the realization that Guitar Hero is probably what is causing my migraines. I did not have one, or even a headache for that matter, until I started playing the game. I’ve been a bit addicted and those songs last for way to long. I find myself looking away from the screen and my vision is causing whatever I’ve fixed my eyes on to sway. Maybe it’s a combination of writing everyday, thus I’m staring at a screen for a couple of hours, and playing immense amounts of video games. Oh what ya’ll didn’t know? I’m a gamer. So that must be it. Guitar Hero and writing. I only have one choice. I’m giving up writing. SIKE!

Borrowing words.

Have you seen the movie Finding Forrester? I have. And let me tell you, it’s my favorite movie of all time. It combines my life right now, basketball and writing, minus the old white man as a mentor. Well, one of my favorite scenes in the movie is when Jamal, the Black basketball player turned genius writer, is going through a case of writer’s block. Forrester, his very old white mentor, gives him an essay of his and says to just start typing. Start copying his words until they become his own. I thought this would be a great idea to do so I asked Phillip to start something for me and I’ll do the same for him. Well, I’m a little impatient and I found something I loved and want to start with it. So here it goes. (Oh and of course I’m not counting those words!)

Life is like a box of crayons. Most people are the 8-color boxes, but what you're really looking for are the 64-color boxes with the sharpeners on the back. I fancy myself to be a 64-color box, though I've got a few missing. It's ok though, because I've got some more vibrant colors like periwinkle at my disposal. I have a bit of a problem though in that I can only meet the 8-color boxes. Does anyone else have that problem? I mean there are so many different colors of life, of feeling, of articulation... so when I meet someone who's an 8-color type... I'm like, hey girl, magenta! And she's like, oh, you mean purple! And she goes off on her purple thing, and I'm like, no - I want magenta!

Life is exactly like a box of crayons and had I not been nosey enough to snoop through a conversation between two of my cousins I would have never even thought about the analogy. I definitely consider myself at this point a sixty-four box with the sharpener in the back, but I think the difference between me and most is I’m striving to be that 120 box. I need some more colors in my repertoire. I look at each different color as a personality trait, a skill, or a piece of knowledge. However not every box is the same. We could both be on a sixty-four box level but what’s in my box may be very different from yours.

I have found that over the past few days I’ve been yelling Magenta at people and they always shout back purple and in some cases they shout back blue, those are those four box kids with the big fat ass crayons you use in kindergarten. Everyone is different and I cannot blame them for that. However, I’ve found that during the course of the summer, I’m going to stop fucking with four and eight box folk and get me some sixty-four colored people on my team. I need people I can learn from, someone who can show me colors like cerulean and robin’s egg blue. I need someone to trade me for the colors I do not need or do not use for something they have. I need someone to be my buddy sitting side by side on a coloring book, each helping each other out on the pages. I need someone to teach me about the colors I don’t know or might not like and allow me to do the same.Life is exactly like a box of crayons and all I want is magenta.

The Problem with Black youth.

Do you want to know what the problem is with our Black youth? It’s the lack of great black sitcoms. Today, all we have is College Hill and Everybody Hates Chris (I know College Hill is not a sitcom but it might as well be scripted), and needless to say, both of those shows are a straight up waste of space. I mean, I really like Everybody Hates Chris. That show is hilarious. But there are so many typical black stereotypes and racial undertones it’s ridiculous. The older black shows consisted of the same. However, there was always a message behind each show.I do intend on writing a deeper piece on the effect quality black sitcoms had on black America. But for right now, I just want to teach you a lesson I was taught yesterday…

Life Lessons with Martin Payne.

It is summer time. And that means I have all the time in the world to reminisce over a few seasons of martin. That’s right all sixty episodes of the first and second season. I plan on purchasing the rest by the end of summer.

Well in this particular episode Martin and Gina open up their first joint bank account together since becoming engaged. Gina, being the woman she is, is obviously more excited than Martin. Martin asks Gina how they will divide up the money. Gina says, “its no more mine and yours, it’s ours.” That’s the last thing she needed to say.

Lesson number 1: Do not ever say ours… about anything.

I’m not in a relationship and the reason is most likely due to my selfish ways of thinking. However, until I am married to anybody, what’s mine is mine and what’s yours is yours. There is and never will be any ours. I’m not saying don’t unselfish acts, like buy gifts or offer to pay every once in a while, because that is the right thing to do. There should be an obvious balance. But, what I am saying is don’t give anyone free reign. In order to control the spending, you must be the one doing the spending. There is a big difference between offering and taking.

Now in case you guys are not familiar with the show Martin, Gina is this big ad exec at her job and Martin makes next to no money working as a radio DJ for WZUP radio in Detroit. Well, Martin and his boys, Tommy and Cole, go to a electronics store to purchase a television. When they walk in Martin says his budget is $400 nothing more nothing less. However, once inside they spot the Hoshitoshi 2000, the biggest big screen TV. allowed by law. This Arabic salesman is hustling Martin into buying the Hoshitoshi 2000. There is the typical devil and angel story with Cole being the devil telling Martin all the reasons why he should buy it, and Tommy being the angel telling Martin he's being hustled. Bickering happens and to make a long story short, Martin walks out with the Hoshitoshi and says, "It's not half mine or half hers, it's all mine."

Life Lesson 2: See?

See what I mean? Gina got taken advantage of. Martin went from spending the allotted amount of $400 to $2,300 on a TV that won't even fit in his living room. If Gina would have listened to me in the first place none of this would have happened. If she wanted to purchase that TV for her man, so be it. But she didn’t even get the chance. The minute it went from mine to ours, it went to none.

The story progresses with Gina stopping the check on the TV and making Martin buy a new little one called the Bitch 200. It was pink and had a little heart on the antenna. It was too girly for me let alone a man’s apartment where men tend to hang. Martin is obviously fed up and goes to Gina’s apartment to find that she is not there. When Gina arrives she’s pulling in this big plastic bag muttering about bread. Come to find out, Gina bought a $300 bread maker. Martin and Gina have yet another fight and Martin tells her to take it back.

Lesson number 3: Two can play that game.

Martin was a fool to think it was just him up to trouble. Gina did the same thing so she has little to no room to be mad. It happens, more often than not. So a little advice, don’t go doing things you don’t want done to you. Because it will happen, and usually it’s tenfold.

The episode ends just as it should. Martin and Gina hug kiss and make up. They both end up going back to their respective stores and buying the bread maker and TV for each other. However, right after they exchange the gifts there’s a knock at the door. There’s a delivery man dropping off the Hoshitoshi 2000 for Martin. He was smart and bought both.

Lesson 4: Do what’s right and do what you want.

If you don’t take anything from this edition of Life Lessons with Martin Payne, take this, do what you want. Do exactly what you want to do. If that means appease the person you are in love with, so be it. But if it means doing for them and doing for yourself, that’s fine too. Selfish? Of course. But that doesn’t mean a damn thing. Martin did what was right, whatever the fuck he wanted to do.

Peace and Love

(10% of the way there… 10,324 words and counting.)

Coming back better than before.

This is a little deviaton from what you’re used to reading from me, but me nonetheless. I am feeling as if my emotions are running rampid and I need to grab a hold on them. Maybe this will be the outlet I need.

Frustration.

I am frustrated. I am beyond frustrated. I am the epitome of frustration. I am scared. I am nervous. I am angry. I can no longer leave the house until I write. I assumed last night after the game was over I’d have plenty of time and energy to put the words on paper to accomplish my goal. But who would have foreseen that I was to come down with a migraine, and my first at that. It was like a pain I’ve never felt before. My brain was literally hurting. I could feel the muscle swelling and touching the sensitive part of the inside of my skull. I was unable to even open my eyes. Not only was the severe pain of my head killing me I was feeling sick to my stomach. I wrote those fifty words after crawling to the computer with my eyes closed. I could not even bring myself to look at the screen. After I was done I tried so hard to open my eyes and it was physically impossible. I was so exhausted from the pain I laid on the floor with no pillow no blanket. The cold tile on my warm body left me feeling with just a small amount of relief. Going back and forth from hovering over my new ceramic love and resting my head on the ice cold tile did just enough to get me going in the morning. As I finally rested my eyes and my mind I was awoke by my phone’s alarm at seven, realizing it was only half past an hour when I actually fell asleep.

I know that it is not only the lingering pain I am feeling right now but also the ever present frustration of not getting in my 350 words. I feel like shit. I feel like I let myself down. I feel as if I’ve learned a lesson to never procrastinate again. I do not know how to feel after a day like yesterday. How does one feel knowing they’ve let themselves down? A minor setback? Sure. Because you better believe I was coming back today better than ever. But the mere fact I even have to mention it makes me feel ashamed. Not many people can relate. Not those who I tend to call my friends. Because out of the handful I call friends there is only a pinch who I know is passionate about something. Most of them, if they even take the time to read my words, will see this as an over reaction. A minor setback. But to me, it is more major than most can ever imagine. I set a goal for myself to accomplish that to me is bigger than most things I’ve ever done in my life. So for them, or you for that matter, to not understand how I feel, we must not have anything in common. And I question my friendship with you in the first place. It’s so hard for me to understand how these people can just overlook something that means so much to me. Brush off what defines me as a person. But I’m sure that’s another post, most likely entitle, refining friendships, or the lack there of.

Why wait?

I’m not going to wait to call people out. Why wait when I have something like 16 hundred words to make up from yesterday. Call this a letter to my friends.

Dear Friends,

Is your day that jam packed you cannot take out the five or ten minutes it takes to read my words? (It’s funny because I’m almost positive the one’s I’m talking to won’t even read this.) My day isn’t too packed to do the little things you ask me to do. From calling you back to talk about some guy I could care less about, to meeting you for dinner at some restaurant I don’t even like eating at. I write these things for me. But, I still want someone to read them. I just hope that something I say will spark something in them to chase their dreams. I understand half the things I usually write about may have no interest at all to you. But shouldn’t your main job as a friend be to support me? When you call me with drama about some guy I don’t even think you should be talking to in the first place, I drop what I’m doing to listen to you cry on the other end. There are people that have never met me who read every single word I write. My question to you is why? Or better, what? What is it that you do that is so important you cannot support me? Sure you’ve read something here or there every once in a while, but I had to twist your arm and remind you time in and time out. Out of the thousands of words I’ve written what you’ve read is next to none. Minuscule. It’s about support. I don’t need you to support me because I can do that by myself. I just feel as if it’s your job to support me. It’s your job as my friend to no matter what it is I’m doing you support me. You love to support the bad things in life. Drinking, partying, who knows what else. But all that I ask is now that I’m doing something good, no something great, support me like you expect me to support you. During the course of writing this letter I’ve realized I have a laundry list of those who are supposed to be my friends but are failing at their job and to me the scripts the same. I could do one of two things, stop supporting you and see how you like it. Or just stop talking to you all together. Which would you prefer? I’ll be a nice enough friend and let you chose. But will you even know I’m asking if you don’t read my words?

I firmly believe opposites attract, otherwise I wouldn’t be friends with more than half of the people I am friends with now. However, I think there comes a point in your life where you stop wanting to get to know people. You know? You just want to be in a comfort zone and there is nothing wrong with that. Why spend time doing things you don’t want to do to satisfy someone who won’t do the same for you? I’m at the point now where I’m willing to give up the efforts that I am constantly putting forth for the betterment of myself. Selfish? Maybe. But I’m not here for you anymore. None of you are here for me, and I’m just now getting old enough to realize it. So when I stop answering your calls or I’m just “too busy,” know that I’m not, I just am sick and tired of you doing the same. I’m past my breaking point and I’ve used the words I’ve been begging you to read to tell you. Consider this a break up letter. Dear John.

For the friends I’m not breaking up with.

Thank you for your support. Thank you for doing everything the others are not. Thank you to those I’ve never met and to those I vow to meet over and over again. For those who give me encouraging words when I cannot find them myself and to those who know nothing about me other than what they read. I am grateful for your love, respect, and support. I am grateful to those I can call more than friends, but family. I will make a promise to you that I will be there always. I will always return the same love, respect, and support you’ve given me.

Peace And Love.
(8,689 words and counting...)