I'm Just Writing To Say...

....that I don't have shit to say. LMAO! I know I haven't written in a while and that yall miss me n shit....just aint had no real tom foolery to report on lately! But I guess that's a good thing, right?

Me vs. McNair

Now I know the title already made some of y'all mad. Let me start off by saying it is/was an unfortunate situation for Mr. McNair and his wife and children. I do not think he deserved to die at the hands of his mistress. It is never a good situation when one man's fate is decided at the hands of another. Not much for following the career of anyone outside of the Washington Redskins, I don't know about his skill on the field or what he did for the community, but I'm sure he was loved and respected by many, in and outside of his professional life.

NOW, with that said, it is also unfortunate that the last thing this man will be remembered for is cheating on his wife and being killed by his mistress. His children will grow up without their father, and when people ask what happened, they'll have to again face the agony of everything they're going through right now.

But what really grinds my gears is how people (translate: MEN) are blaming WOMEN for being crazy. "Now I definitely aint gettin married cuz yall women are crazy." Ummmmmmmmmm....WTF?! NO, if you men didn't always fuck everything that walks and didn't treat your jumpoffs like wifey, then don't you think some people wouldn't have the problems that they do now?

I understand many young men aren't ready for serious relationships, which is why many steer clear of them. And that's the reason why I also tend to avoid relationships at this stage in my life. I'm ready to be a good woman to a deserving man, but I'm going to let him find me. Until then, I'm staying away from men with hang-ups or who don't seem to have themselves together.

But anyway, I'm disgusted by the amount of men so ready to point the finger at women and our "instabilities". I KNOW not all of us are 100% there. I'm well aware of that fact. But how bout you all take some ownership? Have some accountability. YOU laid down with that girl. YOU, somehow, someway, made her feel like she was all that mattered in the world to you, and now YOU want to blame her for her erratic behavior?

I will right here, right now take accountability for MYSELF. I KNOW I am not always the nicest person you may know. I know my moods can flip flop one minute to the next. But I'm claiming that because I know who I am. So I KNOW, for a fact, that I will never let a man bring me to the point where I am contemplating on killing him, myself, or doing anything else that will cost me my freedom. Because I also have a firm grasp on reality, and know that men come like busses, every 15 minutes. Some may take longer to come around than others, but you know that eventually, it will be there. But some of you fail to understand that the majority of us women have that grasp on reality, and ain't gonna be trippin off you and your overinflated ego. NOT THE CASE! Get your head out of your own fucking ass and realize that the reality of the situation is there will ALWAYS be someone better than you. Ladies you need to wake up and smell the coffee too. Someone who will treat you better, who will open your door, who will pay the whole bill, and someone who won't need you to continuously stroke their ego because they'll be man enough to know exactly how much of a man they are.

I know I was all over the place with this one but I just had to let some things out. Men stop blaming women and their crazy behavior when you aint shit. And women please realize when a man aint shit and leave his ass alone, or else he will bring you down with him.

Vent

Ugh. So this morning I'm getting ready for work and I go to heat up my iron. Now normally, the indicator continually blinks on standby, but not today.

"Oh shit."

So I'm tryin all the different plugs on the powerstrip, EVEN THOUGH everything else is working fine. I go to the bathroom, try the plug in there. Nothing.

"FUCK!"

I call my best friend to see if she can help a sista out and let me come use her iron but she's already out the door. So I weigh my options...3 pairs of slacks, all wrinkled beyond recognition...or a pink flower dress I got from Old Navy that no matter what, never looks wrinkled.

Dress it is.

But of course with this being MY life, shit couldn't just end there.

As I am moving in two days, my apartment is in shambles, bags boxes and clothes everywhere. I had actually packed the Old Navy dress away for Goodwill. Because I haven't worn it in a good 3-4 years so I was sure it no longer fit but was still in great condition. Why not give it to someone less fortunate?

So of course the dress was at the BOTTOM of the bag. I find it, and of course, the dress that NEVER wrinkles has a few good ones, but no biggie, they can be worked with. So I go to pull the dress over my head, struggle to find the arm holes cuz the dress is a little tight on my size 7 frame. I'm tugging at the dress and for the life of me, can NOT get it past my boobs.

DOUBLE U TEE EFF?!

Then I realize one of the "arm holes" is actually the side zipper. Whew. So I get myself together, put my arm in the right hole but can't zip it up all the way.

"SONOFABITCH!!!"

Let me paint you all a picture real quick. It's already after 8:05 (so that makes me late), I have no central a/c, and it's already 70 degrees outside. Now that may seem like nothing to you, but my heart started pumping fast and furious when I realized my iron had died. So I'm HEATED, in every sense of the word.

But I know that real G's have to make sacrifices. So I pull on my brown Ralph Lauren cardigan (to cover up the half-mast zipper), pull my sleeves up, slip on my brown flats and grab my brown-and-pink multi-colored Vera Bradley purse, and head out the door.

This damn dress is so tight I can hardly breathe. Definitely shows my tummy I try so hard to suck in everyday. I can't breathe too hard for fear it'll rip in half, a la The Hulk. It keeps riding up in the back so it makes me look like I got the stank booty walk when that's hardly the case. When I sit down it rides halfway up my thighs so it gives all the Baltimore pervs on the bus a nice little peep show. But dammit I got the whole day to get through, so fuck it.

Fuck you iron, for burning me on Saturday and dying on Monday. The same thing happens to bees. So what does that say about you? BEETCH!!

Fuck you dress, for not gaining material where my body gained pounds.

Fuck you Baltimore pervs. Although you'd probably like that. Ew.

Fuck all three of yall, yall aint shit.

And I still made it to work on time.