Here is a list of 10 things that are not sexy. 10. Form fitting clothes on people without a decent form. As a public service, even if you think it looks okay, please don’t inflict it on the rest of us. 9. Taking a photo of your beer gut and flabby arms in a wife beater while standing in front of your hooptie and then using that photo on your profile on a dating site. 8. Sleeping around. You might call it liberating or pimping. The rest of us call it gross as you really look like a cesspool of venereal disease. 7. Stepping to me and trying to holla when you don’t have a job and live in your mama’s basement. 6. Excessive cleavage at work. Sure it works on TV, but this is real life. 5. Answering, “How was your weekend?” with explicit details of the sex you had. I wasn’t trying to hear all that. Really, I wasn’t. 4. Bad Breath. Nuff said. 3. Showing your privates to strangers (and people who are practically strangers) over the Internet on your webcam. 2. Being a guest on Maury for any reason. 1. Homemade Sex Videos: No one looks good with a dick in their mouth. Period. At least with porno movies, the people are professions. There are attractive professionals in front of the camera and, more importantly, professionals behind the camera, working out camera angles, lighting, hair/make-up and editing. None of that exists in your bedroom. It is not sexy.
Khloe Kardashian married Lamar Odom over the weekend. They had been dating a month.
What do you know about someone in a month? Not much. Everyone’s still on their best behavior at the first month. They aren’t farting around you or spending hours on the playstation. They are keeping their most annoying friends (the ones they spend the most time with ) away from you. If they have kids you probably haven't met them. You really don't know how they handle anger, stress, boredom.
You don't know their family very well. And if you do, recognize that they're on their best behavior too. Your drunk uncle stays close to sober when your boyfriend comes over to dinner. Your mother resists the urge to ask all sorts of prying questions. At your request, your father is not cleaning his gun collection. And your cousin the floozy hired a babysitter instead of bringing all 6 of her kids over to dinner. I know I wait a good and long time before I introduce anyone to my family … and as far as families go they are reasonable sane.
Then again, I doubt they were considering marriage when they got married. They definitely weren’t considering death-till-us part or building a life together. I doubt they were thinking past the next few weeks. They were thinking about a wedding and publicity. Someone asked, “How do you plan a lavish wedding in two weeks?” (which means they were planning to get married after 2 weeks of dating). Easy, this chick has had her ‘dream wedding’ planned probably for the past couple of years, all she needed was some dude to drop into the scene. And, when you plan a wedding to someone you’ve known for less than a month, he is … some dude.
Now most people will say "He’s a basketball player and he has money … and she’s a Kardasian and she has money." And I say, “So the fuck what?” Money is great but it is no replacement for: kindness, intelligence, common sense, class, talent, decency or any other value or trait. There are a lot of assholes, bimbos, perverts, weirdos and garden-variety miscreants who have money. Having money means you can indulge your whims … like getting married … that’s all it means.
Sooner than you can say, 'registry', they’ll be splashed across the tabloids getting divorced. I will care even less then.
You know the Will Smith remake, I Am Legend, the one where he is the last man on Earth (well almost) and it’s just him and his dog. Well, my life has become very similar – except without the night-crawling zombies craving human flesh.
As far as I can see, the only drawback I’ve come across to working from home is that I don’t have co-workers. All my life I’ve been a bit of a ‘social butterfly.’ At Headstart, I was spanked during nap time because I didn’t nap but talked quietly to the boy laying next to me. My kindergarten teacher referred to me as a ‘bit of a busy body.’ Flash forward 35 years and I’m THAT WOMAN, the one who talks to the checkout girl at the grocery store and chats with the mail man. No doubt, my manager was an ass but I truly enjoyed working with my co-workers and my supervisor.
Add to that the fact that I live alone and have no kids and no significant others and I am home all the time by myself. All the time.
Now my friends who are moms love to say how much they envy all that alone time and how they’d love to be me for an afternoon. Yeah, sure. But they don’t get it. It’s not an afternoon or a weekend off and then back to your family. It’s days and even weeks with minimal human contact. Since I’m not dating anyone, this could go on indefinitely. It could be years.
I have two friends I talk to almost daily, Tikki and Kyle. I have instructed both of them that if they haven’t heard from me in a couple of days to call my local police just to make sure I’m not at home dead and decomposing.
Plus, when I’m home a lot I tend to get wrapped up inside of my head and that’s never a good thing, not at all. I think about what would happen if I did die at home. Since I’m not in an apartment but a house, no one will smell my rotting flesh. How long, exactly, would it take before someone found me? Would Joey eat me if he got hungry enough? Would there be maggots? It seems as if there are always maggots (at least on TV)? Where do the maggots come from? Are they already in the house?
You see … alone with my thoughts for days on end is definitely not good for my mental health!
Now, if I end up locked in the house all day AND keep watching all those trashy TV shows, I think I’ll be ready for a padded room within two weeks. Of course, since I live alone, no one will know that I’ve lost my damn mind.
Since I am officially working for myself, I've instituted a four-day work week. I don't do Fridays. I go to the movies instead. Since I am low on funds right now, it's either the show at AMC before noon, which is $5, or the $2 movie.
Yesterday, it was the $2 movie. I had just purchased my ticket and decided to use the bathroom before I get my popcorn (I have a serious pathological need for popcorn at the movies). So, I'm in the stall, and I hear a woman and a child come in and go into one of the stalls. I'm not sure which one went to the bathroom but someone did.
Anyway, they are still in the bathroom as I come out of the stall. I go over to the counter and get some soap and begin to wash my hands. As I am drying them at one of those useless dryers that blows cold air on your hands, this woman and the kid (he's about 4) walk out of the stall and, she looks me dead in my eye as she walks OUT of the bathroom. She didn't even approach the sink area. She just looked me dead in the eye as she took her stank-ass hand and wrapped it around the door handle as she opened it and left the bathroom.
I sure hope neither one of them was eating out of a canister of popcorn! That shit was just gross.
However, it reaffirms my theory about how irrelevant bathroom signs are. People like me are going to wash their hands anyway. We don't need a sign to remind us. And stank-ass, nasty, trifiling people like this piece of bacteria-laden trash are not going to wash theirs and with her blatant defiance, I know a 'reminder sign' would not have moved her any closer to the sink.
I was talking to Tikki earlier today and somehow the topic turned to fatherhood and she told me about some guy who was still in his 20’s and had fathered 21 kids. I couldn’t believe it, then I looked it up for myself and guess what, it’s true.
This knucklehead, 29-year old, minimum –wage earning sorry-excuse-for-a-man, Desmond Hatchett, has 21 kids with 11 women. The Knoxville native is happy to report that he knows the names and ages of all 21 kids. I say we should nominate him for Father of the Year! After his paycheck is garnished the mothers average, per kid, just under $2 in support.
What I don’t understand is what would possess mothers 3-11 to lay down and have children with this walking sperm bank. He’s not all that, he’s making minimum wage, he doesn’t appear to be that much of a catch. If I find out that a guy I’m dating has a number of kids with a number of women, that’s not just a red flag, it’s a red BLANKET and it’s covering me from head to toe. It’s a sign that I got to go. Moreso, it’s a sign that maybe, and this is a stretch, I know, maybe, I shouldn’t be entertaining the thought of carrying his child.
And if I do carry his child, should I be surprised when he ends up being a disappointment as a father?
This same scene plays out on Maury on a regular basis. A woman comes out on the stage, swears up and down that some clown is her baby daddy. Then, she tells on herself. She’ll say something like “And, Murray (because after all of these years, they still don’t know how to pronounce the man’s name) I know he got about 6 kids by 5 other women.” Really? You knew that and yet and still YOU had a baby with the idiot? Who’s the bigger fool?
I think I need my own reality show. I’ll call it What Were You Thinking? And I can ask the questions that none of these other trashy talk show hosts have the guts to ask.
“If you knew he had 18 kids with 9 other women, why were you so ready to be baby mama #10 and give birth to baby #19?
“Sometimes the condom does break and accidents happen, but we know that, more than likely, you laid down with this fool and had unprotected sex like all the rest of the baby mamas. Weren’t you afraid of getting some disease?
“Are you really surprised that he’s not supporting your kid? Really? Did you think your shit was so golden that you would be the one woman he wouldn’t disappoint?”
And the men wouldn’t get away with anything on my show, either. If I could have this Desmond Hatchett on my show I’d have some hard questions for him.
“Why don’t you get a hobby?”
“Do you really think knowing your kids’ names and ages makes you a good dad? How about their favorite color or their favorite subject in school? What books do you read to them at bedtime?”
“Is it true that you boasted about getting four women pregnant in one year? What was the accomplishment there?”
You were also quoted as saying, ““I didn’t intend to have this many. It just happened.” Walk me through that process where it just happens. And, while we are at it, what do you have against condoms and women who take birth control?
You also said, in your defense, that all of your baby mamas knew what they were getting into and that they knew you had a ‘large family.’ Well, what’s your excuse? You knew how many kids you had; you knew how much baby mama drama you had going on; you knew you make next to know money. So how come you didn’t know what you were getting into?
My plea is for all you intelligent people reading this blog … procreate! Do it now! The stupid people are breeding at an unprecedented rate. We have to do something to counter it or their ignorance will take over the world!
If we were never friends or if we were once friends but the friendship ended poorly, then I don’t want to be your Facebook friend. It’s just that simple.
Case #1: My ex-boss, the one who was consistently rude to me, sent me a friend request a few weeks after I started working there. Really? You want to be my friend? You can’t even speak to me but you want to friend me? At the risk of getting even ruder treatment, I accepted her as my friend, then restricted the hell out of her so that she really couldn’t see much more than my profile picture. What if I want to rant on my wall about work? Or her? What if I want to put pictures of my drunken weekend escapades on my site? (Not that I have those but you get the point.)How could I do that with my boss looking? Of course, after the bitch fired me, I immediately un-friended her.
Case #2: One day, I’ll share the story with you of how I lost my virginity. Oh hell, I’ll just do it now. Without going into painfully-excruciating, teenage-angst-filled detail, I suffered from really, really low, practically non-existent self-esteem in high school. I was scared that I would be a virgin forever because I was a senior, I’d barely been kissed, and I’d had never had a boyfriend. Plus I had seen 80-year old virgins on Donohue so I knew a lifetime of virginity was possible.
At my school in the 80’s black girls weren’t in high demand by the black guys or any other guys for that matter. Then this guy, we’ll call him … Smedley, expressed an interest in me. I had no interest in Smeds whatsoever, unattractive was an understatement, I didn’t really even like him as a person, but he was on the football team. So we did it. It was lousy – so much so that we did it twice more to see if it got better, it didn’t.
Anyway, he told EVERYBODY in our small high school about it: football team, basketball team, cheerleaders, the nerds in my honors classes, and even the handful of potheads that sat in the corner of the cafeteria. I was humiliated.
And now, … he wants to be my friend.
I friended him just to be nosy. I wanted to see his photos. I saw several pictures of him and his ‘lovely’ (NOT) wife. Living well and LOOKING BETTER is the best revenge. Sure, I went through an ugly duckling phase - completely with braces, acne and questionable hair - but it was a phase! It’s over. Over I tell you! Unfortunately, it’s a way of life for Smeds!
Case #3: My friend Denny dodged a bullet about 10 years ago when she didn't marry her fiance. He'd been a cheater and all around ass. Anyway, several months after the fact, he calls her and tells her he doesn't feel like he owes her for any of the wedding expenses ... even though his cheating and other shit caused the wedding to be called off. She had to pay all of that off herself. Now, she's happily married to someone else with two gorgeous kids and guess who wants to be friends?
Time heals all wounds but that still doesn't mean I want some ass to that never was to now, all of the sudden, be my friend. Puh-leeze!
One benefit of working from home is that I control my schedule, so I can make a Wal-Mart run in the middle of the afternoon, which is what I did the other day. I had on my little exercise pants, coordinating t-shirt and baseball hat and was rocking some cute earrings and light make-up. I was more casual than business but still looked presentable … and dare I say, a little cute.
I’m running through frozen food when this man approaches me trying to holla. He had long hair that could have made a 2 foot afro but he had it pulled back into a sloppy pony tail, with a dirty white t-shirt and some old-ass track pants. He looked like he needed a shower.
And yet, here he was, tryin’ to holla.
Really?
Seriously?
I’m not saying that I’m all that but damn … I do need a man that has some regular hygiene about him. It is incredible to me that men will always try to holla.
That evening, it was a little cooler than usual, so I decided to go for a walk … as in walking for exercise. I’m headed back home, enjoying my walk and jamming to my MP3 player when I car pulls along side of me.
It’s an African dude. I knew it when I saw him. African dudes ALWAYS try to talk to me. This isn’t a good or a bad thing, simply a thing. Anyway, I was wearing a fitted t-shirt with two words on it. You’d have thought the damn shirt had two paragraphs of single-spaced, 8-point font the way he stared at my chest the entire time he tried to talk to me.
If that wasn’t enough, as we finished talking, this fool tried to hug me.
I told him to back up. He said he just wanted a hug, I told him I was sweaty and that, and this is the important part, I DON’T KNOW YOU. So he continued on his way and about 10 minutes later, I see him again and he asks if I need a ride. Need a ride? I’m walking. For Exercise. Doesn’t that sort of defeat the purpose?
I was thinking about this topic as I sat on a plane over the weekend. I like an aisle, it makes me fee like I have at least a bit of freedom. I really lucked out and had the whole row to myself … the middle seat was empty and the stinky, boozy lady that was in the window seat ended up moving to the back.
So we take off, we reach altitude, I’m working on my little puzzle book, and out of the corner of my eye, I see that the woman across from me has gotten comfortable … a bit too comfortable if you ask me, because her bare feet are draped across her husband’s legs and poking out into the aisle. Now, in her defense they were nice feet … manicured, no signs of bunions, or corns or any kind of fungus. But, still, they are bare feet in a public place and I don’t want them anywhere near me, I don’t care how nice the polish looks.
So in honor of Tacky Barefoot Woman, here is a list of things I don’t want to see.
Feet: Allow me to elaborate, bare feet belong at home. They don’t belong in planes. They don’t belong propped up on dashboards or God forbid, dangling out of the window of a moving car. There is a reason why the sign says, “No shoes. No shirt. No service.”
Abs/Arms: Speaking of shirts, men, wear them. Unless you are rockin’ some serious abs of steel with some nice toned arms to boot, don’t try to do the wifebeater thing or the shirtless thing. If you are over 30, the wife beater look isn’t for you anyway. If you have a gut, if you are overweight or if you are skinny with no muscles, you don’t need this look either and I don’t care how old you are.
Ass: I’m still waiting for the low rise phase to completely abate. Remember when showing your crack was an embarrassment? Remember all the jokes we made about plumbers who did that? It’s time to bring back the ridicule for people who show their asses or their drawers. Maybe that thong looks sexy when you are at home with your man but when you’re out at the mall; it’s not a good look. Not at all. I don’t care if you are Meagan Fox, Vivica Fox or if you think you are a fox in your own mind, don’t do it.
This goes for the men too. Pull your damn pants up! No one wants to see your dingy boxers or funky tightie used-to-be-but-not-anymore whities.
Tonsils: I never want to see the contents of your mouth. If you need to yawn, sneeze, or cough, you need to cover your mouth.
Hot Messes: My father told me, “Never go further than the mail box if you aren’t put together.” And our mailbox was right by the garage. People, your appearance matters. You never know who you will run into out in the world … even on your little CVS run. I realize that we aren’t all fashion plates and divas but still take a moment to at least look neat and clean. Have some self-respect!!
I live in a nice neighborhood and I absolutely love my house. But, as with any neighborhood, especially one that is moderately-priced, there are always a couple of people who manage to squeeze in that you really wish didn’t live there.
I guess my next door neighbor would qualify. He seems like a nice enough guy but he has a hood dog. You know, guys in the hood have to show how tough they are by getting a pit bull or a Rottweiler or similar vicious dog capable of maiming and killing people. Like most, he swears up and down, the dog is harmless. Tell that to my friend Candy, he sent her running for her life once when she came to visit.
His girlfriend/baby mama/I-don’t-really-know-who-she-is has a nasty habit of letting him out early in the morning, in the front yard, without a leash. He isn’t well-trained and doesn’t automatically come when she calls him. Very encouraging when Joey and I happen to be out in our yard! The last thing I need to see at 5:15 in the damn morning is a big ass rott staring me down in my own yard!
But the award for complete ghetto-fabulousness has to go to a family that lives on the corner.
I don’t know how many kids they have but it’s too many and all of them are all over the place all the time. These are the kind of kids that play in the street and don’t get out of the way when they see you driving down the street. These are the kind of kids who fight and yell and scream at the bus stop. These are the kind of kinds who you never see with their hair combed. These are the kind of kids who show up at your house on Halloween with no costumes demanding candy and then getting an attitude when you don't give them enough.
I guess what bothers me is that the ghetto has a way of finding you. You can’t have something nice without the ghetto moving in. You can try to run but you won't be able to hide.
We sold our old house in my hometown, the one I grew up in, to some damn ghetto people. We didn’t know they were ghetto when we sold it to them. These fools ‘planted’ plastic tulips in the yard and then they leave them there year-round. So, you can drive down street in the dead of winter with two feet of snow and still see those damn fake flowers.
The gutter is falling off. They refuse to paint the house. They cut down the beautiful Japanese Fire tree that was in the front yard and left the stump there. And I could have sworn one time when I did the drive-by on a visit home, they had clothes DRYING in the TREE in the back yard.
How much money do I have to make and how far out do I have to go to get away from ghetto ass people???
Okay, it’s Day 3 of working from home. Still loving it. I spend most of my time on the computer and I usually have the television on. Now, one of my guiltiest guilty pleasures is Trash TV. When I had a weekday off I would love to sit around and watch as many of the sleazy talk and contentious court shows as possible. The sleazier the better! Bring it on! I love them! I mean, how many people do you know that DVR Divorce Court and sometimes Maury?
So I figured a by-product of staying at home is that I could get my fill of trashy TV. Well, it’s Day 3 and I’ve had my fill! Seriously, I can't take anymore! I took an extra long walk with Joey today just to get away! It's too much.
I can’t take anymore paternity test drama on Maury. Even though, there will always be a place in my heart for women who do the Run of Shame after being 3000% sure that DaQuan is the father of little De'La'Ke'Neesha only to have Maury tell her that he is NOT the father. I can't take any more trailer trash and tranny travesties on Jerry, along with all of the flashers that attend to show to get those cheap-ass plastic "Jerry Beads." And, of course now, Jerry's former bodyguard, big and bald-headed Steve Wilkos has his on show. Everyday he's in the face of some abusive husband/boyfriend/pimp or just dealing with some seriously extreme family dysfunction which ends up in a whole lot of crying. I’m tired of Judges Hatchett, Alex, Mathis, Millian, Judy and especially Judge Joe Brown, too.
So what is a newly-unemployed, struggling entreprenuer to do?
I could fill my days with endless episodes of Law & Order SVU. But honestly, would replacing trash TV with creepy sexually deviant-based crimes be better?
Outside of The Cash Cab, I’m not a big fan of game shows and the more mainstream talk shows (Oprah, Phil, Ellen) bore me.
I love the Lord but I can’t say that I love the 700 Club or any of the other homemade Christian shows that come on down here during the day.
Lifetime really isn’t an option because I think overdosing on the Golden Girls and a steady diet of Lifetime movies (Mother May I Sleep With Danger, anyone?) might kill almost as many brain cells as trashy talk shows do.
Silence might work for a minute … but all day? That’s just creepy.
Yesterday, I talked about getting fired. Now, I'm looking for work but in the meantime I'm also working at promoting an eBook I just released and promoting my side business (which I love) full-time.
So yesterday, I started "working from home" and I love it!
I start my morning with a nice walk around the neighborhood. I fix my breakfast. Go upstairs and start working. I take breaks to do laundry and fix a nice lunch. I take little walks outside with Joey. I get to watch Maury while I write and make some phone calls (with the volume down of course).
But do you want to know the best thing????
I can poop.
I can poop with freedom and ease and privacy.
I had a nice and satisfying poop this morning. I did it in my master bathroom while thumbing though a magazine. I didn't have to walk inconspicuously into the seldom-used bathroom in the back of the building. I didn't have to worry about people walking in. I didn't have to flush 15 times in hopes of not stinking up the place. I didn't have to wait out another pooper in an adjacent stall.
I just pooped. In my own home. In my own bathroom. At my leisure.
A girl can seriously get used to working from home.
Laughing at a Funeral and other Inappropriate Responses
I have avoided doing a lot of posts about my job, because, well, I hate it. Or, should I say hated it. I had been with my old company for about two years and really liked it, but they had started downsizing and with people all around me losing their jobs, I knew my time was coming. So, I started looking for another job. I found one I would have been perfect for but another person got it. Then, the same company came back to me a few days later and offered me another position. My gut told me not to take it but I was scared of ending up out of work and with this economy, I wasn’t sure when the next job offer would come along. So I took it.
Big mistake. The past 5 months have been hell. I hated what I was doing and for reasons I'll never know or care to know, my manager hated me. She was so rude to me that it was comical.
So, fast forward to about a week ago. Long story short, I fucked up on an assignment she’d given me. I took responsibility for it. Apologized. Promised to do better. Blah, blah, blah. However, I knew it wasn’t over.
Friday morning, she calls me into her office and closes the door. The supervisor of my department is there too and she’s not making eye contact – never a good sign. Since one of my best 'work friends' is in HR, I know how these meetings go, so I had a feeling of what was coming next.
I must have had that look on my face, so my manager says, happily, “What’s wrong? You look like something’s wrong?”
I said, "I 'm just a little nervous." I wanted to say, "No Bitch. Nothing's wrong. I mean, I think I'm about to get fired, but that's it. No big deal."
So she continues on in her upbeat, optimistic, sing-song voice to tell me that they’ve decided to sever their relationship with me due to the mistake I’d made the week before (a mistake that others have made and still managed to keep their jobs). The truth of the matter is that I was relieved. Happy, even. However, I had enough sense to continue to look and act like this was the serious discussion it was. Not my manager…
She was positively GLEEFUL. Yes, gleeful. I mean, I get that she didn’t like me – well I don’t get it, but damn. When someone loses their job at least have enough respect to act a little concerned.
She was positively USELESS when it came to things like knowing little things when my last check was coming, when my benefits ended or any of the things that most people want to know when they are being fired. She was more concerned with whether I’d want to pack up my own stuff or let them pack it up and send it to me.
I said I would pack up my own stuff. So she cheerfully ends the meeting and we all walk out together. Now, I’m packing up my stuff at my cube, she and the supervisor are standing by the supervisor’s cube talking. I finish getting my stuff together and I’m standing their waiting for someone to escort me out of the building ... which is customary.
Finally I catch her eye and she says in the rude tone she always takes with me, “What is it?”
I say, “I’m done. I just thought that you would want to walk me out of the building.”
She waves her hand in a dismissive ‘shooing’ motion and says, “You can just go.”
It took everything in me not to smile and say, “Well, okay. Bye Bitch!”
First of all, when it comes to Jon and Kate Plus Eight, 18 and Counting and just about everything the Octomom does, I just don’t get it. Since when does having a gaggle of kids make you interesting? Why does that make someone worthy of my television viewing time? So you got a bunch of kids. Big freakin’ deal. It’s bad enough the divorce of Jon and Kate is such an inescapable spectacle, but did he really go on TV and say that he despised his soon to be ex-wife? Great way to talk about the mother of your kids.
Mark Sanford/Joe Wilson
It must suck to be from South Carolina right now with these being the two politicians from the Palmetto state garnering national attention. Sanford goes off to Argentina to visit his mistress leaving behind a pack of lies. He comes back and pretty much says, “The other woman is my soul mate but I’m going to try to fall back in love with my wife.” What a jerk! Everybody wants him to resign but he just keeps coming back and making statements that make him look like an even bigger jerk.
Then, if that weren’t bad enough, we get Republican representative Joe Wilson who heckles the president during a national address. Having on both the East and West Coasts, a lot of people already think people from the South are a bunch of Yahoos. Damn if he didn’t stand up and give them proof for their argument. All he had to do was issue an inflammatory statement to the media calling the President a liar and media would have showed up to cover it. Media loves a good fight.
Juan Manuel Marquez
As he prepares to face off against Floyd Mayweather he admits the distinctive and disgusting secret to his success - he drinks his own urine. Newsflash (and biology lesson): urine, much like its solid counterpart … shit, is waste. It’s stuff the body has no use for and is getting rid of. The body, in its intelligent design, has taken all the nutrients out of all the food and is getting rid of the junk, the waste. So what is there to gain by putting it back in the body? And the fact that he is sharing this information with the world says it all. He’s got shit, or more accurately piss, for brains.
There is a very annoying trend I’ve seen in many workplaces: Bathroom Signs. Signs in the stalls telling me to flush and tidy up. Signs at the sink telling me to wash my hands. And, if those weren’t enough, a sign on the door, as I walk out, reminding me to practice good hygiene. I’m practically 41 years old, why do I need a sign to tell me to do what I’ve been doing for damn near 40 years? There are no small children in the workplace, so why do we need signs touting the bathroom basics that are generally part of the elementary school experience.
Besides, all this signage is not working.
I’ve walked into some nasty-ass stalls – toilets filled with fully bloody unflushed tampons, toilets stuffed with smelly shit, toilet seats smeared with all sorts of bodily fluids. And in every single stall, guess what? There is a sign!
I’ve also been in a stall when I hear someone who may or may not flush walk out of the stall and straight out of the bathroom, ignoring at least three different signs in the process. What? Can’t they read?
There are two types of people who use the bathroom. There are the ones like me who will automatically flush the toilet and wash their hands just because it’s damn nasty not to. We will do it whether or not a sign is there to tell us. We were raised right.
I mean, seriously, “Thank goodness there was a sign in the bathroom reminding me to flush. I was just about to walk out of a stall filled with stinky-ass floaters when I saw the sign. It’s because of that sign, and only because of that sign, that I turned back around and flushed the toilet. Then, again, thank goodness for obvious signage, I was about to walk out with poop-tinged fingers when I spied, out of the corner of my eye, a sign reminding me to wash my hands. I swear, if it wasn’t for signs, I wouldn’t know what to do!”
Then there are the nasty folks. They have no intention of flushing, washing or doing anything else. In my last job, some woman left a puddle of blood on the floor in front of one of the toilets. If that isn’t nasty, I don’t know what it. But there was a sign in that stall. She must not have read it. Or maybe, just maybe, she just didn’t give a rat’s ass.
“Fuck a sign,” the Nasty One might say. “I don’t have time to flush or clean my fluids off a toilet. I mean, it’s not like it’s going to hurt anybody. They can just wipe it off themselves. As far as washing my hands, I used a lot of toilet paper, so I’m sure I don’t have poop-tinged fingers. And, I mean, I’m not sick so what’s the big deal?”
The big deal is that you are nasty! That’s the big deal. But a stupid sign isn’t going to help.
If you are reading this and you agree with me, let’s start a movement (not a bowel movement but if you have one of those flush!) but a movement to tear down the signs. Tear them down and out the nasty people by identifying them by their shoes!
This edition of The Random Shit is dedicated to anyone who’s been driving down the road singing a song, only to stop when they realize just how stupid the lyrics really are. We’ll start at the old and work our way up to the new.
Woman-to-Woman
Performed & Written by Shirley Brown In this old school classic, Shirley calls Barbara to let her know that the man she’s having an affair with is her man. Shirley is calling to talk to Barbara “Woman to Woman”
During the spoken part at the beginning of the song, we find out that Shirley found Barbara’s number in “her old man’s pocket” and she wanted to call her and set her straight. Shirley tells Barbara, “But it`s only fair that I let you know that / The man you`re in love with / He's mine. / From the top of his head / To the bottom of his feet / The bed he sleeps in / And every piece of food he eats / You see, I make it possible / The clothes on his back / Ha ha, I buy them / The car he drives / I pay the note every month / So I`m telling you these things / To let you know how much I love that man / And woman to woman / I think you`ll understand / How much I`ll do to keep him”
Okay, now Woman-to-Woman …. Shirley you are an idiot. Your man is cheating on you. Wake the hell up! You don’t know this Barbara chick. She’s not in a relationship with you, he is. Why don’t you call him up, Woman to Man? Then, did I hear you right, Shirley? Did you just brag to the other woman about how you cook, clean, buy the clothes and pay the car note for your sorry-ass, philandering man? Did you just boost about paying the note on the car he’s driving Barbara around in and the clothes she’s ripping off his back? Oh I understand exactly how much you’ll do and what ridiculously pathetic lengths you’ll go to keep him.
And I Am Telling You Performed by Jennifers – Holliday and Hudson Wow. This is truly the desperate woman’s anthem. The man is leaving and if we are looking at where this song falls in the musical, he’s leaving Effie for her former best friend and lead singer Deena. And this, this is the “best man [she’s] ever known”? Really?
Effie needs to take a page from the Bonnie Raitt songbook. No truer words have ever been sung than when Bonnie sang, “I can’t make you love me if you don’t. You can’t make your heart feel something it won’t.” No man ever stayed because someone said, “I’m staying. I’m staying. And you, and you, and you, you’re gonna love me.” No he’s not. Effie sings about “not waking up tomorrow morning and finding that there’s nobody there.” Oh but she did. And not only did she wake up alone, she woke up kicked out of the Dreamgirls. Great guy. Really worth the effort.
Birthday Sex Written and Performed by Jeremih Yeah Talk about a cheap mother fucker. I see woman grooving and singing this all the time. Okay, he’s not giving you a gift, he’s not giving you a romantic dinner or a weekend getaway, he’s giving you the same old tired dick you had the other night. Oh, but I digress. It’s not the same, it’s special … because it’s your birthday.
If you fall for that okie-doke, then you don’t deserve a gift. You deserve to be hoodwinked and bamboozled.
In the first verse he admits he’s a cheap, horny little MF. He says, “It's your birthday so I know / you want to riiide out, / Even if we only go to myyy house / Sip mo- weezy as we sit upon myyy couch.” Yeah, girl, you are spending your special day at his house sitting up on his couch. Happy Birthday!
The chorus includes this line, “Don't need candles or cake” You mean, a sista can’t even get a cupcake?
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not anti-birthday sex. I think it could be a great way to end a special evening, but as part of a birthday package that includes – birthday dinner, birthday gift, maybe some birthday cards and/or some birthday flowers. In and of itself, birthday sex is a cheap cop-out from a horny little bastard.
And if you let him get away with it, expect … Christmas Sex, New Year’s Sex and Valentine’s Day Sex.
If you have ever been driving down the road singing along with the radio then stopped because you realized how ridiculous the lyrics were, this is dedicated to you.
Random Shit – Gay 80’s Music Videos Edition There are a lot of videos that were fine back in the day but when I look at them now, I see them from what they are, since the innocence of youth has been so violently stripped away.
It’s Raining Men – The Weather Girls and Mother Nature got together to do a big favor for us single girls. Conditions were right (“Humidity is rising. Barometer’s getting low.”) The weathermen gave instruction (According to our sources, the streets the place to go.”)After all, Mother Nature knew our pain (“She’s a single woman too!”) and she went to bat for us unattached women (“She took on the Heavens and she did what she had to do.”) and all so that “Each and every woman could find the perfect guy!” Well, they get an A for effort but there is a big problem when it comes to execution. When you watch the video, it becomes painfully obvious that there was a glitch in Mother Nature’s plan. It’s clearly raining GAY men and that doesn’t really help me much.
Let’s Get Physical – Olivia Newton John shed her Good Girl image with this song telling her man that she wanted to get physical. She wanted to “hear his body talk.” In the video, so goes into a gym filled with hot guys and begins training a bunch of fat and out of shape guys. In no time she’s whipped those couch potatoes into shape, turning those piles of overweight junk into some tight, taut hunks. But wait a minute!! If you watch the video until the very end, you find out that these hunks had another definition of getting physical – one that didn’t involve Olivia Newton John or any other woman for that matter. The last frames of the video show two of our hunkiest hunks headed for the shower hand-in-hand. Me thinks they will be very eager to drop that soap!
Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go – George Michael and Andrew Ridgeley were hot. Smoking hot. At least to my innocent teenage eyes. However, come on, when I look at this video now, the short shorts and the seriously fake tan scream “I’m a gay man!” to me. How come we needed like 7 more years before George Michael officially came out?
Why does Batman need The Riddler if he already has The Joker? Isn't that a little redundant? I mean, a riddle is a form of a joke, right? The Joker is such an iconic character that the Riddler doesn't stand a chance. Never did. Who can take him seriously? I mean he's like the cheap superhero knock-off of the comic book original. If the Joker was a handbag, you'd purchase him at the Coach store. The Riddler you'd pick up from the lady that sales the knockoffs on the corner, downtown.
I never bought the whole Popeye thing. I mean, spinach might have made him strong but it also made him stupid. I mean, even as a kid, I could see through the scam. Every episode, that skinny bitch, Olive, leaves Popeye for that big, bad, abusive oaf of a neanderthal, Bluto, Pluto, Brutus, whatever he's calling himself. And every episode, she runs back crying to Popeye to save her which he does ... without question or objection ... just to have her do the same thing over again. THEN, baby Sweet Pea shows up on Popeye's doorstep and HE ends up taking care of him/her. Where is the cartoon Maury when you need him.
There is a saying, attributed to W.C. Fields, "If at first you don't succeed, try, try, again. Then quit. There's no need to be a fool about it." Tom (of Tom and Jerry fame), Wile E. Coyote and Yosemite Sam, can take a page from Fields's book. How many times does the bomb have to blow up in your face or the anvil fall on squarely on your head before you say, "Enough?" There is more to life than chasing after Jerry, the Road Runner and Bugs Bunny.
Now, I could have put Daffy Duck in the above group, but I have a special place in my heart for Daffy. He has more cartoons than Marvin the Martian and the ridiculously innane and useless Tasmanian Devil, yet it's practically impossible to get any Daffy Duck merchandise. I can get a Marvin or Taz t-shirt but if I want Daffy, I have to settle for a Warner Brothers group shot. How could it be that such a central character in the WB lexicon of cartoon characters consistently gets the short end of the stick? I'll tell you. He's black.He's a black duck.
A brotha duck can't get his own t-shirt? A brotha duck can't get more than a measly key chain by himself at the WB store? A brotha duck has to watch while a Tasmanian Devil gets the limelight? Most people don't even know where Tasmania is. And Marvin? He's a Martian. He's anotha brotha from anotha planet and he scores more shit than Daffy. What does a duck have to do to get some love? What the fuck?
Growing up, I was the popular girl. I wasn’t the easy, slutty popular girl but the funny, likeable popular girl. People just liked me. As I got older – college and beyond – it was still important for people to like me. I mean, EVERYBODY! If someone didn’t like me, I wondered why. I agonized. It kept me up at night. For real! It did.
Somewhere in my 30’s however, I had a revelation. You know, an epiphany of sorts. If people didn’t like me, it wasn’t my problem, it was theirs. I mean, who wouldn’t like me? If you don’t, it’s probably some sort of personality disorder on your part. I would strongly suggest counseling or medication – possibly both.
Which brings me to today. I started my job in the spring. The verdict is still out on whether I like it or not. My resume is still active and searchable on CareerBuilder. Anyway, I’ve begun to think that the manager of my department, Meagan, doesn’t like me. Today, it was confirmed.
She doesn’t really speak to me unless it’s absolutely necessary. The other day, I was walking into the building as she was walking out and she tried to close the door on me. Whenever I have a question to ask her, she looks at me with an exasperated, “What?” expression.
Case in point, I had a question to ask her once before we started a department meeting. She was speaking to someone, so I stood quietly by waiting for her to finish. Abruptly, she stopped her conversation, jeered at me with that typical annoyed look and snapped, “I don’t need anything from you right now.” Taken aback, I smiled and proceeded to ask my question. She proceeded to look like an idiot.
Now, yesterday, I was talking to my supervisor, Lauren, who I report directly to. I had some files that I was working on and I needed to have Meagan review and signoff on them. Lauren told me to email Meagan and schedule a time to do the review.
Today, I emailed Meagan. I sent the message directly to her and her alone. It was a short two line email requesting a meeting. Instead of replying to me, she forwarded my two line email to Lauren and said, “Tell her to schedule a meeting with me in Outlook.” Lauren then forwards this message to me and says, “Meagan wants you to schedule a meeting with her in Outlook.”
Really?
Is she fuckin’ serious?
Is Meagan’s distain for me so strong that she can’t even email me directly?
Does she know how utterly ridiculous she looks?
The delicious part of all of this is that I don’t care. I really don’t. She doesn’t like me and that is her problem. She has a big project on her plate that I would be perfect for but instead of getting me involved, she gives it to her already overworked and overextended Golden Girl – the one she likes to go to lunch with and get manicures with.
I have friends – a lot of them - and damn good ones to boot. Making friends at work is nice but not necessary. Now, I’m wishing that I hadn’t been anonymous in that ABC News article when I said I preferred working for men (http://tiny.cc/G9N5C ). This is exactly the reason why.
No matter. She accepted another position within the organization. And the best part, she transitions into that job later this month … on my birthday!
Name: SDC Home: United States About Me: I'm a youthful 44-year old, who is infectiously funny, dangerously smart, wildly creative, hopelessly math-phobic, tactfully honest, occasionally politically incorrect, and cute to boot! See my complete profile
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As he prepares to face off against Floyd Mayweather he admits the distinctive and disgusting secret to his success - he drinks his own urine. Newsflash (and biology lesson): urine, much like its solid counterpart … shit, is waste. It’s stuff the body has no use for and is getting rid of. The body, in its intelligent design, has taken all the nutrients out of all the food and is getting rid of the junk, the waste. So what is there to gain by putting it back in the body? And the fact that he is sharing this information with the world says it all. He’s got shit, or more accurately piss, for brains.
