Search This Blog

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Christmas is cancelled...

I love Christmas. Not because of the gifts, the music, the weather, the decorations, the warm nights with someone I love just enjoying the season...but all of it combined. There's something about the holiday season that always cheers me up.

But this year...fuck Christmas.

This is the first Christmas that I'm spending alone. My "it's complicated" who played understudy for the absentee husband last year is gone and I don't feel like hanging out with my family or friends (everyone in my age range are either married with kids or happily single with kids). I just can't do all the family "fun" when I'm so miserable. I hate to be the wet blanket and lately I am having a hard time masking my misery, so I'm choosing to opt out of the festivities in in an effort not to ruin everyone's good time.

No, I'm not a martyr and no it isn't some lame cry for help or attention.

I am honestly looking forward to spending this time alone. In past years, I couldn't wait until the holiday season, but when I moved out of the apartment my ex and I shared, I trashed my Christmas tree. Not just because I hated it (I wanted a white fake tree--every since I was a kid I wanted that white tree, I know it looks extra fake, but I wanted it nonetheless--but the ex insisted on a more realistic-looking tree, never mind the fact that he was Baha'i and only adopted the holiday for the gifts and food), but because I didn't feel that my house was a home anymore. Homes need Christmas trees, houses don't. I mean, why jack up my light bill if I'm the only one who's gonna enjoy it? Sure, the lights would dance off the bottles of booze that I now hold near and dear (don't judge try living with the thoughts in my head that only alcohol will temporarily kill), but that isn't reason enough to screw my January budget.

This year, I'm thinking about taking a trip for Christmas. More importantly, I think I'm going to do something that truly makes me happy these days...drinking, gambling, wallowing in self-pity and singing Christmas carols. So where can all of that self-destructive fun come together so seamlessly? Vegas baby!

Ok, I was way too optimistic there. I took a look at flights out of DCA to McCarran anywhere near Christmas and the rates are ridiculous. Not that I expected anything other than that...oh well, looks like I'll be driving up to Atlantic City again. Hey, at least that'll extend my gambling budget.

I originally had a plan to sit in an empty hotel room drinking almost to the point of unconsciousness and then just blow my brains out...but that seemed too maudlin and overdone. Still runs through my head, but I'd like to continue properly earning my seat in the hottest corner of hell. As I sat on my couch last night staring at the tv (I don't even watch tv anymore, lord only knows why I had it on), it hit me exactly how lonely I am. I'm a smartass and I like being able to make comments at tv shows with someone...and I miss that. As it is, I hate being in the house because I'm here by myself. My fish are beautiful, but they don't talk back.

I don't pray anymore. Not because I've lost faith (oh, I know something's up there...who else could be enjoying themselves watching the trainwreck that my life has become), but because whenever I pray for something, the exact opposite happens. I got hip to that a few years ago and started praying for the opposite of what I needed/wanted...but still got the shaft. But I read the following prayer on CL earlier and it seemed like if I tried it, this last-ditch effort might just turn into a Christmas miracle (those happen, right? for my sake--and sanity--I hope they do). So here goes....come on big money, big money, no whammy!

Dear God - Please hear my prayer. Please take the pain, anger, and longing away. Please remove him from my heart and mind. I can't take this anymore, and I must turn to you now. Please also hear my prayer, and bring me a man who loves me for ME only, and nothing else. Just please remove this ghost of a man from my heart and mind...or at least take the pain and suffering that has festered inside me for the last year. Please. Amen.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

I'm Black Enough...

I read a blog post about Jesse Jackson telling Soledad O'Brien that she wasn't "Black enough" on O Hell Nawl (awesome blog, check them out) this afternoon and it really got me to thinking about the topic. I'd briefly touched on this subject last month, but I felt I needed to post here what I commented there. Enjoy my rant! lol :p

November 11, 2010 at 2:52 pm
 A few things:

1. Jesse Jackson AND Al Sharpton (well-deserved honorable mention) are jackasses and have become more of a hindrance to the progressive Black movement than help.

2. Soledad O’Brien is Black? Really? Color me ignorant because I thought she was Latino and White. I know we come in different shades and whatnot, but the name through me off.

3. Our people can be more judgmental and excluding than most hardcore bigots out there. You have to have an extra thick skin if you’re mixed and/or light-complexioned. (For the record: not all of us light-skinned girls are stuck up or think we’re better than our darker-toned sisters. I think all shades of Black are beautiful. If you have a complex about your color, I empathize, but please don’t project it onto me, deal with it. Hey, at least no one questions your “Blackness”.)

4. Jesse Jackson is a jackass.

I grew up hearing I wasn’t Black enough. I got called a traitor to my people because I married outside my race. F*ck outta here with that foolishness. I still hear I’m not Black enough…and it still irks me. I always ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean. So I’m an “oreo” because I use proper English? Because I’m educated? Because rap, r&b, and go-go aren’t the end-all be-all of music for me? Because I love Rock Band and Guitar Hero? Because I read Stephen King instead of Zane? Because I refuse to act a fool in public or be ghetto to the nth degree? Why can’t we as a people be multi-faceted…must we all like the same things and be so damn cookie-cutter? I should hope not.

I don’t get it and never will. My mom is Slaus’ complexion and she has heard she was siditty (sp?) and wasn’t Black enough all her life because she worked hard to live better and hatin-ass negus will always be hatin-ass negus. People actually tried to shade her for getting a Masters degree…WTF?!?! I used to care and it used to bother me, but she always told me that all those folks who throw shade and are so busy “keeping it real” are being left in the dust in life because they spend all their time worrying about the Joneses instead of trying to keep up with them (not in the elitist sense, but striving to do better in order to live better).

Dammit, why can’t we all get along?

*drops mic*

Friday, October 29, 2010

Paying dust...

I have a bit of a problem...I'm a lonely, bitter old crone. My "it's complicated" has gone from a band-aid on a stab wound to salt in an open wound. Let me rap it down to you (Cheech and Chong reference!).

So, I'm currently seeing this guy. He's a sweetheart when he wants to be, but he can also be a bit of a bastard when--oh, i dunno--the sun shines (or whatever else little petty reason he can muster up to validate his temper tantrums). I put up with his BS because for a minute, I thought I had found a better version of what I'd lost. He brings that familiarity that I so desperately miss. Now, I'm no spring chicken and I realize a rebound relationship hardly ever pans out, but the ends no longer justify the means. I don't want to argue, I don't want to be mad, I just want to spend some quality time and be happy enjoying each others' company. But more and more it seems like I'm concerned with our best interests and he's just concerned with his own.

I wish I would accept that.

I've come to the realization that if I spend half of my time miserable and fighting, I'm not really improving my situation. So, I've started to stop caring. When he wants to argue, I pay him no attention. When he gets in a little tizzy and prepares to go home, I no longer try to stop him. What's the point? So I can end up apologizing for something I didn't even do? Nah son, I'm over it. The honeymoon phase is long over. Don't get me wrong, I still enjoy our time together when we're in a good place, but I've learned to switch off when things go sour for the evening. The question now becomes: how long do I even bother to hope for a good evening? 

Some day it will be my turn again. Although I'm sure I'll die of a massive stroke the day after I find happiness. What can I say? I'm cynical, I've been screwed over, I know just how cruel life can be, so I broke my rose-colored glasses and took a long hard look at reality.

You're damned if you do and damned if you don't.

*drops mic*

Thursday, October 14, 2010


October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month, so I thought I'd pay tribute to the baddest survivor to ever beat her feet across this rock.

This is my mama. I love her to bits. She drives me mad, but it's her job. 

At 24, on her way to JFK's inaugural ball...she knew she was hot shit.  

My mother is celebrating her 10th year in remission. She's a tough old broad...and that's one of the things I respect and love the most about her. 

If anyone's out there and wants to throw the spotlight on someone close to them who's either fought and won, fighting now, or fought and lost the battle against the soul-crushing disease known as cancer (all types welcome, not restricted to breast cancer)...speak on it. 

*drops mic*

Forever young...

There are three beings on this planet that I live and die for: my mom, my auntie dog. Yeah, you read that right, I love my dog like a fat kid loves cake. She's 14 now and still the shit. And I will fight anyone all in the face if they dare disagree with me. 

 How can you not love this dog?

Her name is Rajine (don't blame me for the Jedi name...I got her from a total idiot completely obsessed with the Star Wars comic books), she's a brindle pit and spoiled as hell. She even knows how to say "mama." She lives with my auntie now because the Nazis in my rental office and the good (read: stupid) people of the City of Alexandria believe that pit bulls are all blood-thirsty heathens and can't be allowed within city limits. Never mind that she's played with children as young as 2 before with no problems. Never mind that she herself thinks she is a small child.

Alas...the time has now come to seriously consider her next move.

My dog has cancer (really God? as if me having it wasn't enough, you gotta give it to my dog too?), what started out as something that looked like a cherry eye was confirmed to be an inoperable tumor which went all the way to the back of her brain. I took her to see a doggy oncologist (yes, these people exist and no they aint cheap) about 2 years ago and was told that while I didn't have to put her down at the time (she was still 4 years old in her head and very active), eventually I would have to put her to sleep once her illness started to impact her quality of life. The doc said "as long as she can eat and shit...she's ok." The ole girl has since lost sight in that eye and her health is declining in general old-codger fashion. I've noticed in the last few visits that the light seems to have left her eyes, gone is the playful 4 year old and what's left in its place is an old lady who just wants to lay around and listen to the tv.

I'm not an inhumane person. I understand pets are only meant to be with us for a short time, but how do you really know when it's their time to take that final ride in the car? She's still excited when she sees me, she still wants to go for a ride in the will I keep it together once I have to take that car ride home alone? I don't want to lose my dog, but I don't want her to suffer.

*drops mic*

Monday, October 11, 2010

8 years...

Today would have been my 8th wedding anniversary. I almost forgot about it. Granted, I actively tried to forget about it because it's just too painful to think about it. My marriage had a good run. Yeah, it ended in the most tragic, Lifetime movie-Jerry Springer way possible (thanks Ramin, you're a rockstar *sarcasm*), but all in all, it was good for a long time. We had many curve balls thrown at us and in the end, my illness was just too much for him to bear (so much for "in sickness and in health," right?)

Whoever said ignorance is bliss aint never lied. I had no idea my husband was living a double life for an entire year (he was the model husband, he never stopped saying he loved me--never acted as if anything was different--he went to work and came home--I don't even know when he had time to see this woman) and honestly, I wish he would have just disappeared without telling me the horrible truth of the way things were.

Have you ever loved someone so much and so deeply that you can't even imagine living your life without them being a part of it? Have you ever lost someone who meant so much to you, your world seemed to drain of color in a matter of minutes? Have you ever lain awake at night and couldn't sleep because the one who used to hold you is now holding another?

"I didn't tell you because I didn't want to break your heart."

What kind of mind-fuck psycho bullshit is that? Let me tell you something, finding out your other half has thrown you in the trash is one of the worst feelings imaginable. And what I still can't understand to this day is the reason behind the deception. I've heard that line said in movies, books, and real life and I don't understand how anyone could think that destroying someone's spirit and life would be any more humane than just being a goddamn adult and telling the truth. It truly throws me for a loop whenever I think about it. The worst part of it all was we were best friends. We talked about everything, we had no secrets and we agreed that if either one of us couldn't do it anymore, we'd come to the other and tell them, not go out and have an affair. But alas, I honored my vows and my husband felt that getting his dick wet was way more important. O_o

I admit, I had changed. I'm sure he justifies his behavior with this fact and it allows him to sleep at night. I wasn't as vibrant as I once was. I was depressed. I didn't want to be the social director of our marriage (I always planned everything, everywhere we went--not because I was a controlling bitch, but because my husband asked me to and liked the activities and vacations I put together--surprise cruise for his birthday disguised as a simple weekend trip to Miami? yeah I know I'm awesome lol). But having cancer will do that to you. I literally didn't have the energy to do much of anything due to the blood loss. But I always made sure he was fed, I always made sure he had something to do when he was bored, even if I was too tired to participate. I always took care of him when he was sick even though I was much more ill myself. Because I loved my husband (sadly, I still do--Lord knows I wish I could turn that off, but my heart won't listen to me no matter how much I argue with it).

In April 2009, I was faced with a serious decision: have a hysterectomy or die. I've always wanted a family and we had been trying for years, but it just wasn't happening for us. I was devastated and the news sent me into such a deep depression, I actually considered foregoing the surgery. But my husband said "it's ok, even if we never have children of our own we have each other and that's enough for me." Cute, right? Caring even. Too bad he already had knocked his mistress up by the time I got that news (he's now "engaged" to said mistress (he changed his status to engaged today of all days...classy) and they have added another child to their "family" -- congrats, I guess? Is it bad that I take some small pleasure in knowing the fact that they had two boys? FYI, my husband never wanted boys and in fact wanted twin girls). So I went ahead with the surgery and things started to get better. First off, I was able to resume my "wifely duties" on a normal schedule (and let me tell you, a year of not getting any on a regular basis was hell for me--too much for him cause he went out and got it from somewhere else). But on October 1st, he called me crying at work and said he was packing and had to leave. I asked
what was wrong (my mind immediately went into protective mode--I can laugh at this now, but I thought he had killed someone accidentally and had to hide from the feds) and he told me he had cheated on me while I was sick, got the girl pregnant and the baby had been born a FULL FUCKING WEEK before he could work up the courage to confess to me. I was dumbfounded. I came home, we talked, then he left. Game over. What I still don't understand was he continued to lie even though the end of us was plainly in sight. I was uncharacteristically calm during our talk. I asked him if he loved his mistress and wanted a divorce so he could marry her and make an honest woman out of her and have an honest family and he said no. Why? Why say she was little more than a one-night stand if that wasn't the case? Why say "fuck her, I'm just worried about my son" if you were supposedly in love with this woman? The damage had already been done. Those lies didn't make me feel any better. I commend myself for not stabbing him in the privacy of our home. No judge would have blamed me. I told my husband the last gift he'd ever get from me would be his life. And I didn't spare it for his sake, I spared it for his son's. I know what it's like to never have a father and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I caused that kind of pain for another person.

About a month after Ramin left, I got the tattoo that's in my display pic. People always ask if the artist was drunk or high because the ribbon looks damaged. I tell them no, I had him make it look tattered. Cancer is a war between you and your body. If you're lucky enough (or unlucky, depending on how you feel about it) to come out on the other end, a regular pristine pretty ribbon doesn't illustrate the hell you've just been dragged through.

I sent this blog to a few of my friends and they asked why I don't have my picture displayed and I told them: "I am no longer the me that you all remember. She is dead and gone, Ramin killed her. What stands in her place is merely shadows and dust waiting to be put out of its misery." I know that sounds melodramatic, but it is what it is and that's truly how I feel. My cancer has come back and spread. I told my ex-husband just to see his reaction and all I got was mild indifference. That was good for a laugh. I've told those close to me that I'm getting treatment, but that's a lie. I haven't seen my oncologist in months. I just don't care anymore, I just can't see the point in trying anymore. There's nothing left in this life for me but a few old pictures and bills. I'm already dead inside, hopefully the cancer will just quickly finish me off so I can finally get some peace.

Anyway, I'm rambling now and I feel like I've lost the plot, so I'll stop here. I just leave you with this bit of advice: know your vows before you take them, respect them, and for God's sake don't get cancer (cause some people think that gives them the right to say "fuck honor and loyalty, I need to get laid!")

*drops mic*

Michael Suby - Kayleigh's Funeral (The Butterfly Effect Extended Version)

what I'm listening to right now...

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Simon & Garfunkel - Sound of Silence

What I'm listening to right now...

A Dark Night...

as i look to the heavens, clouds gather and engulf the night sky.
where is my shelter from the storm? sheltering another?
who will hold my hand in the darkness? will my hand remain empty?
as the moon slips behind the curtain of night, what comfort awaits?
will the noise within these four walls remain simply the beating of my lonely heart and nothing more?
can a house ever be a home again without love?
will the lightning illuminate the emptiness of my soul?
will the thunder shake the depths of my spirit?
will the rain clouds ever disappear over the horizon?
will this lonely night forever remain?
who will come and tell me the storm is over...

Attention Kmart Shoppers:

This is why...

"Why do you talk white??" "No nigga I'm educated, try it sometimes"

I just clicked "like" on this page on Facebook. The first half of this statement truly irritates me. I've heard it directed at me before and my answer was very much like the answer given.

What really chaps my ass is the thought process behind such an "insult". Since when does using proper grammar and
enunciation belong entirely to the White race? Why must horrifying English and that dreaded Ebonics crap belong solely to minorities (read: Blacks and to a much lesser extent, Latinos)? Why is it a social faux pas in some circles to use correct English?

As a minority, it enrages me to hear that from people. It's an insult to our race, our culture. To our ancestors who risked death by teaching their children to read and write by candlelight on plantations hundreds of years ago; to the people who sacrificed their lives so we could be treated as equals in this not so equal society; and to those who have to try extra hard, go the extra distance, just to distance themselves from all that madness today.

What, I ask, is so great about bad English and Ebonics? Does it make you sound "cooler" or give you an "edge"? Don't get me wrong--I use slang, I use certain language (read: foul) around certain people and in certain settings--but I try not to blur the line between presenting myself as someone who knows how to act in public and someone who doesn't give a thought to their surroundings.

Some would say I need to know better people, but I think that's a load of shit. Knowing all kinds of people enrich the person you are.

I don't know and I don't judge. It just irks me, that's all. It also irks me that that response was grammatically incorrect, but now I'm just being ridiculous. LOL;)

*drops mic*

Kings of Leon - Sex On Fire

What I'm listening to right now...

Hurry up 12/21/12

I'm tired and I don't want to do this anymore. I'm lonely and miserable and broken. I'm damaged goods and toxic to anyone who dares get close to me. This life has become unbearable, but I'm terrified of going to hell (which is where I'll probably end up anyway cause God has a sick sense of humor when it comes to my life--might as well extend to afterlife), so I'm too much of a coward to end it all myself (I tried, but the boys in blue threw me in the nut house because --gasp!--attempting suicide is illegal and there's SO MUCH TO LIVE FOR--really? last time I checked my life is in the fucking gutter, what the hell am I living for? to pay bills? to watch life pass me by? to see my ex husband and his ogre of a mistress continue to have children while I mourn the loss of that capability --thanks cancer--what the FUCK is so good about life?!?!)

God, I hate everything and everyone, please give me a heart attack or stroke or something, I'm just fucking tired of it all. I'm tired of putting on a fake smile to try to placate everyone. I'm not happy, I'm fucking miserable. I FUCKING HATE MY LIFE!!!!!!!!!

Flame away, I don't give a shit.

End rant.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Random Haiku

A kind word is free-

Both rich and poor can afford-

What is your excuse?

"It's Complicated"

So what does that mean anyway? Why must things be so complicated? A "friend" (it's complicated...natch) asked me this morning what that meant on facebook. My answer? One of several things:
  1. You're dating someone, but it's on the rocks
  2. You're dating someone who is technically the boyfriend/girlfriend/husband/wife of someone else
  3. You have a friend with benefits, but there isn't a relationship status for casual sex
When I thought about what each of those situations meant, it kind of ticked me off. We live in a complicated world. Aren't there enough things to cause confusion without throwing matters of the heart into the mix? At what point (especially when it comes to #2) do you become complacent in your position in someone else's life?

I asked a bunch of friends who have this as their relationship status what it meant to them and the reactions I got went from mild acceptance to thinly-veiled hostility over the status of their love life. We as humans (well, most of us, I can't speak for those who eschew love altogether) crave to be loved, to have someone to love. And we're stingy, no one likes to play second fiddle (especially to someone who you deem to have less to offer than you do).

So why comply? Why accept that you'll never be anything more than a back-up plan? I don't get that. Yet, I've spent some time in my not-so-distant past being in what can only be called a relationship in the loosest sense of the word. For me, the reasons I have for my acceptance of those terms were justified in my warped mind, albeit quite pathetic nonetheless.

Don't get me wrong, life isn't all sunshine and farts, but why can't we be honest with the ones we choose to spend (or waste, depending on how you feel) our lives with? If someone's in a relationship and they're totally unhappy, but stay out of some sense of obligation, why not have the balls and common decency to tell your partner you're over it? If you're dating a married/attached person, why not have the self-respect to tell them that you don't like being the "other woman/man" (unless you're ok with that...and if that's the case, you're a f*cked up individual and karma will come for you eventually)? If you're just casually sleeping with someone, aren't you really just single?

I don't know and I don't judge (except in cases of #2 above and I have my reasons for that---to reiterate, f*ck cheaters, y'all aint sh*t).

*drops mic*


Ok, so I've said about a million times that I need to start a blog because I'm way too opinionated to keep it to myself. The problem is, I'm kinda lazy at times, so I fear I'll only update this thing whenever I'm drunk. :p

So...what the hell do I talk about here?

Well, there are several ways I could go about things. I've started keeping a list in a draft email (thanks yahoo) of topics to discuss. So far, I have four things:
  1. The scum of the earth...better known as my ex-husband
  2. Life after cancer...better known as my reality
  3. H.A.M.s on the street...better known as the people I privately laugh at (really, do some people not own mirrors or do they leave the house with an "I don't give a damn" attitude? O.o)
  4. The IRS and how it rapes my soul on income tax day (and yes...April 15 is my birthday)
In the words of Gucci Mane (yes I referenced him, don't judge cause some of his beats are hot), "well, DAMN." I know there are better things to discuss, things that won't send my pressure skyrocketing and won't expose me as the bitter old crone I know I'm turning into. But who, exactly, am I writing this blog for? Myself? My readers? Wait...will I have readers? That would be cool.

Anyway, I think I'll go the classy route (we'll see how long that lasts, but I'm guessing it'll be somewhere around a week) and not spew too much venom...all at one time. ;)

*drops mic*