Truth Is Ordinary People Can't Wait

I have a question. I need someone to explain to me why women [some women] name their kids after their baby's daddy. The ranting of an stoical femme fatal follows: Let me make sure I understand this correctly. A dude [maybe one who holds the title of husband, fiance, boyfriend, dude doing the screwin']during the course of sexual intercourse sends some semen into a woman's ...ya know; chances are that happened before that woman got hers. One of those thousands and millions of sperm happen to swim to an egg and fertilizes it. This fertalized egg becomes a zygote, then the real work begins. For the next nine months, the expectant mom counts the new stretch marks that are appearing daily. She has to learn to sleep on her back because rolling over for a good night's sleep on her stomach is no longer plausible. In the first few months she upchucks right before brushing her teeth. Doctor visits, baby kicks, false labor pains. Real labor pains. Taking anywhere from 0 to 959843

I decided recently, while helping my sister with her pre-algebra homework, that I really do miss math. I was a stellar math student, but I decided to major in Communications??? While teaching my sister trig functions, I remembered why math was my first love. It made my brain churn; sometimes the answer was right there on the tip of my pencil, and other times it was burried under four cups of IHOP's coffee at 4:00am. Eitherway it was there, non-waivering, and waiting for me to find it. Why did I loose that? When did I decided that not putting a preposition at the end of a sentence was more important or more exciting that a good ole fashion integration problem? The two things in which I trived during high school are the two things away from which I am the furthest: acting, and math. I miss them, and I think (while I still have the chance) it's time to revive at least the latter. Here I come!

Missin Means. On another note.. Mr. 26 just won't take a damn hint! Why is he still trying? I understand he is attractive, and is probably not used to getting shot down by the likes of me. That matters not! I am not interested. Would someone please , for the love of God give him my blog address? Make it 27 things I hate about him.. #27. As I walk past him either pretending to be on the phone or I really on the phone, he proceeds to attempt to hold a conversation with me!! Rudeass-- you're never ever getting past "so what are you doing later tonight" ever again! Arrugh

Three glasses of whole milk, for example, contains as much saturated fat as 13 strips of cooked bacon. See more Health Facts: http://www.hsph.harvard.edu/nutritionsource/pyramids.html

My sister called me today to tell me that a senior at our old high school [one of the uppity private schools in the city] just drove his/her brand new two-door Bentley to school. I mean really-- there is a new 2-door Bentley in the student parking lot. That student lot is used to Mercedes, BMW's and my Ford Escort! But a Bentley now that is just hilarious!

In rememberance.... With the Love Taught by Mua To Mua… How do you accurately express the love and affection of one who has loved so many and given so much? The truth is that the love and affection of our grandmother cannot be accurately expressed, not in words here on this paper today, not in words of reminiscent memories, not in words in our journals reflecting on the life of our Mua. The only way to accurately express her love, and affection is through our actions and the way we love others. Will we miss her? Oh most definitely! However each of us can find a part of Annie Laura in our own spirit. She is apart of us; she is the quiet smirk of approval; she is the dimple in our chin; she is the voice confirming “there are no ugly people in my family,” she is the lingering smell of homemade cornbread dressing on Thanksgiving Day; she is the switch across our rear, and she is the report card money in our pocket. We will take those small things and hold on to them. Nurture them. Water th

I was reading Zane's Sex Chronicles last night, and realized how much I was disappointed by most of the stories... it definitely seemed more like telling instead of showing. In writing I think you should show not tell right? Anyway it inspired me to write a little. This isn't hardcore or anything. Just what came out when I started writing. As it is against Google's blogger policies, I can't really post the whole thing as what comes after the ellipses is semi-provocative... but here is a taste. I have laid here for numerous moments in attempts to fall asleep: trying to avoid writing the letter that I know I will regret not only this next morning, but many mornings to come. It’s hot in here. The fan is blazing; the air conditioner, blasting. But nothing cools me but the sound of this pen to paper. I have placed myself in a box where morals are the main attraction and self-destruction is a result of me succumbing to unscrupulous thoughts and actions. This destruction toni

Am I a woman? Am I a girl? Am I a human being? If I am, why does the idea of falling head over heals in love with someone [who loves me back] not arouse an ounce of excitment? Maybe at one point the idea excited me, but now, in my today, I couldn't care less if I ever engaged in that "foot popping kiss." I wonder what has diluted my girlish sense of romantic fantasy. I think that subconsciously I feel that love is a fantsy, and fantsies are unrealistic. Maybe I am just like every other fe/male who has been hurt once but unrequited love and vows never to love again. Maybe I have subconsciously convienced myself that love is for books, and some bad movies. One thing I can say in my defense is that I have always thought that love breeds irrational thoughts, leading to irrational actions, and before I would willingly sucumb to irrational tendencies I would rather avoid the emotion which leads one to such. I prefer reason over emotion. Possibly, I prefer to be hurt by my own a

I can't really think of anything interesting to talk about today, but I didn't want you all to think I was slipping back into a recession. I'm still here! Be on the lookout for a blog tomorrow. Maybe I will take Zilla's advice and do a "43 Things Before I Die" Blog. Make sure you check him out. We are writting a book together.... aren't we Zillz? Also check out the new Gripe of the Day ... my girl Prissy is a RIOT yo!

In order for an apology to be warranted, an ill-doing must have preceded. The problem here is just that. The perpetrator and the apologist are one and the same. Many say that a perpetrator must apologize, and make amends for his/her ill-doing. The problem problem with apologies is perpetrators can get off so easy because all he has to do is apologize, like that is all he can do. The victim is left with grunt work all of the time. She is the one who is reduced to nothingness, wondering what she did, why it happened to her, then she is left with the most taxing decision of whether to forgive or not to forgive. The problem then becomes that after the perpetrator has apologized not forgiving would only stand to harm the victim by making her bitter and angry. What kind of effed up system is that? And repenting. This is why I could not be God. He listens to people apologize over and over for the same thing, and He continuously forgives. Whereas I would just be like, " Look! Stop doing

So last night's dream was interesting, odd, yet probably indicative of the woman I will grow to become. Here is the scenario. I am about fifty-five years old, and have been married for about thirty years. We [my husband and I] have four children, three girls and a boy. We are happy. We have two kids in college and two in senior high, and we are happy. One night at dinner I tell my husband that when our youngest graduates from high school in two years, I am going to file for divorce. I explain that it is not a result of anything that he has done, nor I. I do not want to be with anyone else, because I do love him; I just no longer have the desire to be his wife. I explain that our children should not know about our future plans to separate, because it would only cause confusion, but I wanted him to know so he could have time to prepare himself. Obviously floored by the fact that I have plotted to divorce him in two years, he interrogates me. He asks if there is someone else, am I no

Whether it is a matter or taste, musical stylings, chords, or rythms, matters not to me. The reason I have recently fallen in love the music of the South is because of its lyrics. At some point, I became tired of hearing "sex. fuck. bitch. hoe. fuck. money. scrilla. nigga. money. sex. dick. pussy. weed. syrup. money. jail. baby mama. baby daddy. hoe." I'm so tired of that. Sometimes I wonder why it attracts so much attention. Thinking back I can remember the exact moment that I fell in love with Country (at the risk of sounding a lot like Sanaa from Love and Hip Hop oops I mean Brown Sugar ). I was driving to my sisters house when I heard Tim McGraw's "Don't Take the Girl." For the first time in my life a song's words actually brought me to tears. After a great leading two verses this is the verse which brought the tears to my eyes as I drove down Houston's highway 90. Same old boy, same sweet girl /Five years down the road There’s going to b

"The New Guy" who is not so new anymore is alive! I heard from him the other day. Oh dear, should I have made this the first update...if i were playing games it would matter, but since I'm not, I guess it's okay. Heck yeah it's okay. This dude held an entire instant messenger convo with me in Pilf Polf. Mr. "26 Things I hated about him" just won't take a hint! At this point an icepick to his ear sounds rather inticing. I'm no longer swamped @ work, my big project is finally over. I'm just waiting for the next big thing. My high school English teacher passed while on a cruise in the Middle East-- I think I may attend his memorial today. J'adore chatter avec les francais sur chat.yahoo.fr. Zilla still has not started on his part of our book. I still love my friends more than anything in the world !

Today's birthdays: there are four...to Mama II, Neesha, V.R.E., and R. Ballard... I wish you all a happy birthday! I am trying to figure out how to write this blog with while maintaining an ample about of discretion, but this is my blog so I guess I don't have to, right? This morning I woke up to one thought, and I am not sure why the cognition randomly surfaced. That desire is not present right now; a repeat is not immediately warranted, thusly I am not quite sure why it was even a thought this morning. Maybe the question should be, will a repeat ever be desired? and even if it is would it ever be obtained? That lack of apprehension? That enormous amount of trust? That level of intensity? That length of time? Could the wantto that was satiated that day be satiated again? Looking back on that encounter, I definately realize that it was an exhibit of the greatest kinship of all times for me, for us, for them, but why think about it today? Why did my subconscience say that today

What does it mean to be a friend? How does one effectively accomplish that goal? Is it okay to stand by and watch helplessly as your friend goes through his own private battles? What do you say when you don't know what to say? How do you say, "What you are doing is not okay," without pushing him away? JUST BE THERE