More Mildly Interesting Stuff You Find on the Internet

Stuff my stocking with this one, Santa!
A girl should always have friends.
Conventional wisdom.
Real playa.
The Governator.
This one must be referring to Nigeria. (Note sarcasm.)
LMAO. I am such a bad mother.
The Powerpuff Girls.
Bad hair gone nerd. I won't even touch the unibrow.
And for the grande finale, Mr. Richard Simmons. A girl could kill for those legs.

Mind Flexing

THA KID informed me, with a disproportionate amount of perplexity, that my ears are tiny.

Decided to drop my IQ a few dozen points today. Watching MTV. My observations/questions before I forget how to spell:

• Snoop should never, and I mean NEVER, wear a wife beater. It just isn't fair to the consumer.
• Can someone tell me why Nickelback's Photograph is on constant replay?
• Pharrell, as dripping with talent as he is, should NOT rap. Or sing. Or show his legs in those shorts, which is a segue into my next observation:
• Fact: There exist very few black men who can get away with their calves on display.
  
• We all know that the more significant half of the Benifer I is a cutie--though I still don't know why her itty-bitty butt's so deserving of media attention--but must she sing? Or try to dance? I'm totally all for lip-synching in her case. And for Britney Spears, Ashley Simpson, and every other "pop icon" we have to endure, but I digress. You gotta give it to JLo, though--'80's retro looks fabulous on her.
  
• I do love that N.E.R.D. song/video, She Wants to Move, ancient as it is. Hmm, there was a time I moved like that girl in the video...OMG, am I that old already?!
  
• Fact: Mos Def and Common are two of the coolest cats in hip-hop.
• Fact: There's less activity in your brain while you're watching TV than while you sleep. Even less when you watch MTV.
• Whoever the HELL let that girl do We Rockin' Stilettos??? Oh, right, there's the one about rollin' on dubs or some ish--no, not talking about Tippin' on 44's, that was considerably classier than the one I'm trying to repress. And there's the fact that someone did give The Pussycat Dolls a record deal--all eighteen of them. My question is this: When they split their net gains after paying off manager, agent, accessories, hairdresser, does the lead singer's cut come to $28.50 or $26.50?
  
• If all we're gonna see is n**gas hollering about they grills and girls shaking unmentionables in an effort to be noticed for 3:38 minutes before the tracks slide out of their hair, what say you we consolidate all videos into one ten-minute monthly extravaganza of cultural debasement and call it a day? In my proposed utopia, a mandatory triennial limit of four songs would be imposed on all "artists."
• What fool gave Jamie Foxx a mic? This Oscar buzz is ridamndiculous. (And let's face it; he's manageable as an actor, but we all know that it was a simple matter of timing--LOTR's have been the only Oscar-worthy movies since maybe 2000, and the last one should have ended 45 minutes before it did--and quota--same with Halle Berry. Not hatin'. Just stating facts.) Mr. Foxx's airtime would be better appropriated by better but less known talents like Little Brother.
• Fact: Lil' Weezie is a tall umpalumpa and needs a bath.
  

This is partly why I tend to stick with Law & Order and such.

Considering again what kind of tattoo I'm gonna get. Just saw a Pharrell video and I think I know what I want now. Took long enough. Been about five years since I decided I'd get one. Thing is, I've got the attention span of a gnat, as one of my friends once put it, and seeing I get bored easily, I don't wanna go get something then have to laser it off in two weeks. Well, if I ever go through with it, I'll describe it. But first, I've got to lose another 10 lbs. Well, maybe five for now, then I'll get my tattoo as a reward. Great motivation, right? But let's hope for now that I still want that tattoo design.

Alrighty, gotta get back to editing the B school essays he wants me to do. Feeling a little like a dumbass, seeing that I need to retake the GMAT--was a little distracted when I took it last--and get my ass to B school. I need the break. Maybe I'll figure out what I wanna do when I get there.

Ciao.

Decisions Decisions

The $80,000 question: What do I do for the rest of existence?

What I studied in undergrad is part of the industry I decided in my fourth year of that dastardly five-year program--seven years depending on what part of the globe you happen to be standing on--to go into and while I love architecture, I figured that one of the perks I'd get by selling out is being able to boss around architects, which I must admit I've thoroughly enjoyed. But I'm so not feeling it right now, man. Haven't been feeling it for several months now, maybe a year. Problem is, I don't quite have my finger on

(The 60 Minutes preview just had a man say how when he saw--I believe he said--the shark, he knew he was going to die. But he's there doing the interview. And why is the--and I hate to say this cos I have a friend who thinks otherwise--ugly girl from Beloved/Set It Off strutting around on CBS with that bad weave?? Why can't they get black hair and make-up people on these shows?????)

what it is I want to do professionally. I hate that my current career doesn't give me the creative outlet I had in design studio. (I do still get the shivers remembering my procrastination-induced sleepless studio nights, cursing at myself and swearing that next time I'd start a whole month before jury instead of a week and a half before.) And I've started feeling uncomfortable about making money off what is in a lot of cases other people's misfortune

(and let's not talk about my recent private obsession with the environmental impact of the building industry, so much so that I asked about it at a job interview this week...they said I was overqualified, but that may not be why I didn't get the job)

or at least their ignorance, and I don't want to work for a firm where the community gets the short end of the stick. I do publication design as a hobby and will succumb to the occasional friend asking for custom-made wedding/party invites, and I've done the interior design for a party--no, it's not just decorating--but being the fickle person I can be, I'm not sure I can sustain my love for these ventures; you know how you ruin a hobby by turning it into work?

I guess I could keep looking for a job in my field and take photography classes, something I've always wanted to do. (A thousand curses on my college's photography dept for phasing out the program...or at least I think that's what they did to keep me out of their hair.) The thing is, I was raised in a society where anything outside of the rigidity of medicine, engineering, architecture--and that may be a little "artsy"--accounting, and business is so not considered a real job. Psychiatry? Writing?? Fashion??? Music???? ACTING?????????

Hell no, not on our watch, my beloved Nigerians holler. Even the foreheads of my open-minded (except where it comes to my choice in men) family would most likely crease up if I ever said I wanted to venture into the arts/humanities. And I'm guilty too; I have to admit that I've always thought we should leave these things to the West. The way I've always seen it, they can afford to be "creative" or engaged in intellectual discourse, but we still have a long-ass way to go, so we need "professionals" to contribute towards our economic development.

But with each successive generation we become more forgiving of these abominations. So maybe I can free myself of my people's snobbery and "find myself." Maybe that would curb my generosity with what my mother recently called my artistic temperament.



I still don't know what I want to do. Damn!

I admit I'm not great at this blogging thing

Especially since I started up again. So I've been reading blogs instead to get my mind off my immediate surroundings and I stumbled across Empress who, while apparently a...really confident girl, has actually helped me somewhat in the above-referenced beyond being entertaining. I've tried to write to jumpstart nursing the wounds of the last year, especially the last couple months, and failed abominably--and I can usually pass as a good writer, mostly when I've caught my boyfriend cheating again :) (Another story, but not the time.) It seems that I need to figure out my issues before I log on, according to what I just read. Or is it that I'm better at traditional writing, i.e., pen and paper? Could be. Maybe I need to pay an unannounced visit to the bf's :)

Empress chica is interesting. I wonder, though, if she's so upbeat because she's still so young. At 28--officially 22--I'm no dinosaur, but I skiddided (as a college professor once put it) off the less complicated route a long time ago and I feel 45 sometimes. Would I have turned out that arrogant if I hadn't fallen off the horse? Yeah, yeah, everyone says I've done great, but I think I know better. I have not met my self-imposed goals. And being smart and pretty doesn't take you places emotionally.

I gotta get out once I get over this flu. Still writing badly.

Mildly Interesting What You Find On Google

Borrowed this idea while browsing from Robert who borrowed it from Dave:

Type the answer to the questions below without punctuation into the Google image search (click the image link) and pick a picture from the first page of the results.

Questions:

1. What town did you grow up?
2. What is your first and last name?
3. What is your favorite food?
4. What is your favorite beverage?
5. What is your favorite scent?
6. What is your favorite song?
7. What are/were your grandmother's names?

My results:

Lagos, Nigeria
















Uh, skipped over this one. Apparently, my name is common with porn stars.

Fish (meant seafood, but who cares?)














New York Mojito














Cigar















That's The Way Love Goes (...at least it was my fav back in '93. Haven't had a fav anything in a while, to tell the truth, so the images above and below are subject to change at anytime.)



















Can't recall (...so that's what I typed in)































Fix You (...for now)

Christmas Spirit

Bah humbug! I haven't gotten into the holiday spirit this year, not even at Thanksgiving. All I can think about is fixing my brakes before the real snow hits.

Short blog. I've made progress. Must tell the other voices in my head.

One more piece of news, this of massive importance: I just discovered Nutella on pancakes. And I don't even like chocolate. (Hey, I'm a mom! I experiment!)

Also, I DO NOT like the ass groove in my bed. I've flipped that mattress every which way, but it's still there! HELP PLEASE!!

I'm broke. My feet hurt. And that chica's trippin'--Ice Cube

In the words of Homer Simpson, "Kids, we're going out. The TV's in charge. Do what it says." In unrelated news today, it's amazing how I now know the entire weekday lineup of Cartoon Network. Sometimes, I get mad if THA KID changes the channel when I'm in the middle of Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends or Camp Lazlo. Alright, not sometimes.

Did you know that an aphid, which is a plant louse, is born pregnant? Interesting fact on Askmen.com. (No, I didn't forget the link; if you could pull yourself away from work deadlines to peruse this nonsense, you can cut and paste.)

Okay, so I really need to get out of the house. Why does daddy get to have all the fun?? We don't live together, obviously, or I'd be hanging out with adults right now. I haven't had much reason to get my hair "did" and I've been positively DYING to try a new fro do. Instead, I wear it in two tucked-in pigtails and haven't washed it in maybe 3 weeks. (No, people, I'm not that nasty; some hair does not generally take to daily washes in the showers. Just once a week.) At least, I've graduated from sweatpants with the ink stain where my ass should go to jeans.

Do you think THA KID would notice if I stepped out for a few hours? I mean, he can bathe all by himself now. I really need to teach him to dial the carry-out just in case I have to step out. Yes, I know. I'm a horrible mother. But when you've been housebound like I've been, you realize that kids should come wired with certain basic skills like dialling Panda Express and figuring out the tip--I'm just sayin'! Okay, I am a bad mother. Guess I'll redeem my black soul by sitting here and watching more Murder, She Wrote, though even that's getting old. Oh, 80's "sophistication." Hmm, oxymoron. Why did they wear those shapeless dresses? And the tapered pants with the pleats?? AND WHY, O WHY, WERE THE MEN'S SUITS SO DAMN SNUG???? I feel a headache coming on. Well, one timeless fashion accessory: multiple gold bangles. I'm not that into gold--I feel myself slowly crossing over to the dark side, though--but those babies are still hot today. Every woman should have that Wonder Woman thing going on.

Had the flu this past week. In the throes of the pain, congestion, and general crankiness, I decided to test Mr. I Can't Give You What You Need. "If you had any decency, you'd kill me now," I said. I swear I saw a twinkle in his left eye.

THA KID is yelling again. Not helping my 80’s-induced headache.

Ah, my unfinanced shoe/purse obsession. If only I could indulge right now. Life wouldn’t be so bad. Life’s great as long as you got sexy shoes. I swear I'm hitting the mall with my next paycheck….right after I mail the daycare check. (I loooovvvee that AmEx commercial about the girl who, graciously receives a commercial intended for her twin girls, says, “Aren’t they adorable? I’ve got a pair in lime green too.” She’s my idol of the week.) But I fear being housebound has made me forget how to walk in heels. I’m gonna start walking around the house in three inches, just in case I get to get back in the game. After all, I was in sneakers last time I went out, although I did feel good about it, letting all the little girls fall over themselves trying to look cute in four inches in the cold. God, I hate it when it shows how hard a girl's trying to look cute. Hence, my lip-gloss-only philosophy—look hot but not bothered. Ah, the wisdom that comes with age. I've finally concluded that I may be shallow. Just a smidgen.

I swear I was about to pop that little girl in the eye she crinkled up to look at me funny. Is it just me or am I getting more paranoid these days? I’m sure I am, but this chica almost made me take off one shoe and smack her. And that over-processed weave--yeah, in my perm days, I wore them, but they looked GOOD!--made me just wanna pull out her tracks one by one.

Is this the example I'm setting for THA KID? Thank the Lord I don't have daughters.

Blogging is therapeutic; THA KID is jumping all over the furniture with that sinister "I dare ya" smirk and I'm actually calm. I swear he's trying to drive me crazy. He bottles up the buckwild until he gets back from weekend @ dad's, so daddy doesn't really know how out of control he could be. Well, I guess it could be worse. He could be yelling, "Two for five! Yo, I got two for five!" on the corner to the neighborhood geriatrics. (Alright, no more two for five references.)

Gotta go make pancakes for THA KID's dinner. Don't as why I volunteered.

House, Senate Republicans Reach Deal on Patriot Act. The bigger news is Nip/Tuck guy told chica to put a bag over her face if he was going to bed her.

I always start by saying that it's been a while. Let's skip the dullness, shall we? Not that life has been to me what it's been for, say, Kevin Federline's hairdresser, but it's been one helluva year, I must say. Does this mean I've gotten wiser, seasoned, through hardship and adversity, realigning my priorities so I may one day soon achieve the right spiritual-social-economic balance every effed-up twenty-almost-thirty-something yearns for? Am I the CEO of a fortune 500 yet? Is my fro (hate that damn word) as big as Kelis'? Uh-huh. I'm proud to say I've become more bitter than I usually am. But my butt's still hot. Oh, and I'm even more broke...which reminds me, my recently made ex-boss has moved up to the top of my hit list, as I've informed everyone who'll give me an ear. Like I said, when I stage my corporate take-over of the world--or at least buy a small island from Oprah--I'll be sure to outfit his cell and get cellmate "Gertrude" a few nice lingerie items for their wedding night. Alternatively, I could simply wave to him when in a couple years he comes up to wash my car glass in traffic and say, "Hey, baldy!"--wait, that's both my ex-bosses--"Remember me? Here's a dollar. Now, don't spend it all at once, y'hear?" I'm sorry, people, but the guy's ass-ity was a little too troublesome, so I quit. Shysty...mmm, I've gotta hold back. Amazing, isn't it, that he actually bumped Baldy I down to #2 on my when-I-make-a-few-millions-or-at-least-marry-that-90-yr-old-billionaire-I-got-my-eye-on hit list. But my butt's still hot. I digress. Or do I?

Well, now that I quit the old J.O.B., I guess I once again got time to blog between school runs and hollering till I'm hoarse at THA KID. But before I delve into my own rantings, Nigerian On The Edge is an interesting blog by who I assume is probably a cool chica. Reading hers reminded me I had one too that's been DYING to hear about my not-so-hot life that

Sorry. Had a hankering for some left-over birthday cake (not mine) but opted for some left-over rice THA KID decided was his way of expressing his love for his mama. Oh yeah, forgot to mention that my son's with me now and determined to make me skip over the edge of my balcony one day. I swear he's trying to kill me. Wouldn't be a pretty sight all those floors down, but hey, I've lost like 14 lbs, so it can't be all that bad. Yeah, I lost weight FINALLY (I was sick, but who cares how I lost it!) and I'm not aiming to rack it back on. It's easier now, for some reason, to starve myself a bit. Just a couple months ago, I couldn't bear the hour between meals, leading to cousin c considering "fat queen" a fair and rather flattering assessment of my appearance at other cousin's wedding this spring. Well, at least I met--and I borrow this term from cool chica referred to above--hot dude there, albeit for a total of 6 hours...6 hours that Mr. I Can't Give You What You Need won't let me forget. Jeez. WE WERE ON A BREAK!!!

Hmm, it's been a year since I started this blog and, uh, did I really say, "String him up?" I still say so, but he's kinda back in the mix. Sigh. Sigh.

Sigh.

But dude was hot hot hot. (I'm sorry, had to say it again.)

HOTHOTHOT!!! I'll stop now. Especially since Mr. I Can't Give You What You Need may see this and recall him telling me how I was, in a word, wrong wrong wrong for even looking at the guy while we were on a break...all this vis-a-vis his other proclivities.

And the stories! Well, seeing that a few friends know where this blog is, I'm gonna have to start another one to divulge details. Nothing like the grapevine ruining the serenity one has achieved outside of the hollering, hyperactive kid's hollering and hyperactiveness. (That a word??)

There's a Murder, She Wrote marathon on right now and I'm psyched. I don't care what y'all say, I love the lady. Although, as you probably know, my prerequisite for being entertained via the tube is murder and a little mayhem. I'll take it in whatever form I can get it. Almost missed picking up THA KID from school cos of JB Fletcher. Damn. Lost my train of thought. Was hoping to say something witty and intellectual. Damn!

Well, back to Mr. I Can't Give You What You Need. Yeah, he's back. Been a year, actually. In that time, I've...hmmm, there I go again with the details. Is there anyway to change my blog address?? Suggestions welcome. But let's just say it's been eventful. And I'm still not getting married. Period. (Check back with me in a few months, though.)

I really did lose my train of thought. You'd think I'd stop now, but you'd be wrong. Oh yeah, I wanna move to NYC. Don't think their public school system is too hot, though. My social life is important, but I don't want THA KID learning math by selling two for five on the corner, as his daddy aptly put it. (Does mentioning my social life make me a bad mother? I don't know, but I haven't seen the inside of anything with music, save one house party @ Thanksgiving, in three months and it'll only get worse. Screw it. I'm sure one club'll have a daycare.)

But at the end of the day, I still got my butt. God is good.