Reality TV Junkie

Kisses to whoever came up with the technology to watch TV online. Thanks to you I don't have to spend money on TiVo and can still watch my reality shows whenever the hell I want. VH1 has this whole Reality TV thing locked up. It seems like they just can't loose. MTV originated it all then passed it off to their sister network. GENIUS! They have created monsters. I am a self-proclaimed Reality Junkie. I tune in looking for my next fix and am ready to murder when its not there. Needless to say, this was one of those murderous Mondays.

NY Goes to Hollywood wraped up their final episode last week. I know they said it throughout the whole show, but it feels like it ended prematurely. Out of habit I found myself checking VH1 online for this week's episode. To mend my broken spirits, let's reminisce:

• At dinner NY tells Tailor Made to stop throwing around big words. What big word did he say you ask....SUPPORT. According to her standards, my name is a big word. Two sylables, definitly confusing.
  
• NY was called out on her breath/taste by a handsome actor. Instant embarassement. Classic.
• Was I the only one who wished NY would of sat in a plastic chair just so you could see her slide off with all that damn baby oil on when she went on the late night talk show?
• Who works out in some flimsy tennis shoes and a regular bra? With tits that large you gotta strap them puppies down! I watched in horor as the personal trainer tried to stretch her legs. If she was the freak we all thought she was, she shoulda been a bit more flexible. I'm a size 14, 183 pounds & I can still drop into the splits without stretching. Step ya game up!
• You couldn't help but feel pity for her when Sister Paterson came to visit. Liza was smart, she stayed her ass at home.
  

The last episode ended with her "breaking up" with reality tv. Yea right. Be lookin out for I Love New York 3. As crazy as she is, she makes for good TV and I reserve a special place on monday nights just to watch the madness.

Ok, enough about the deceased. I Want to Work for Diddy. Poprah is fired, Laverne was eliminated. If I wasn't so captivated by Diddy, I'd have to stop watching this show. Like a true junkie, I'm hooked. I knew from reading the tone of Poprah's blogs on VH1's website that she didn't make it to the end. She sounded bitter. No assistant in their right mind would bad mouth their boss or openly disagree with their decisions. I expected her to get the boot, but I guess I hadn't mentally prepared for it. Here are my favorite Diddy moments thus far:

• Laverne's fall durring the "Applesauce Bandit" mission.
  
• Kendra showing her hood when she went after Boris while he was seated.
• Seeing Diddy's ugly ass dog for the first time. The dog has to be old as dirt. I'm thinking Diddy brought the dog with him from his days growing up. That's the only explination I could come up with. Was it just me or did you also see a few patches missing from the dog's fur. Po baby...
• Poprah's explination of why she gained so much weight. You gained weight so industry men wouldn't want to sleep with you!? I love you Kim so I'll let that lame excuse slide.
• Remember that elimination where Capricorn voiced her opinion then walked out? Genius! Sometimes not saying anything at all is best. GUT PUNCH FOR DAT ASS!
• Seeing an episode featuring Janelle Monae. Luv her to pieces. Ya'll better not mess up her showcase!

I didn't really watch Rock of Love 2 so I'm not all that familiar with all the characters that will be Charm School, but I'm looking forward to the antics. Those girls are a hot mess. I'm already yearning for Lacey's elimination. She's excellent for reality tv, but no villian has annoyed me like she has (not even ChaTar/Hottie & her excessive blinks). I'm secretly hoping that Heather will handle that for me. Til then I'll be watching I Love Money and waiting for Pick Up Artist 2 & for Paris to pick her Best Friend.

BET, will you ever be able to master reality tv? I thought ya'll were on to something with the early seasons of College Hill, but that proved to be a disappointment. I have given up hope.

Power of the Pen

I just got done reading Kim Osorio's book, Straight From the Source. It made me further realize the power that a pen holds. I also realized something about myself. Osorio stuck around and catered to Benzino's twisted ass agenda just because she was making 130K. I could never comprimise myself for that. No amount of money could get me to write some bullshit I didn't believe in. I guess I'm just hard headed like that.

From the moment I saw my first published article in print way back in high school, that has been my mission. I remember feeling straight up pride when I saw that I had managed to have the most articles published out of any other Kansas City Association of Black Journalism student. I didn't care if the article only contained my name in the byline or if I had to share it with 2 other students, I was published and you couldn't take that away from me. I was the gateway to information.

I remember my first article published in The Kansas City Star newspaper independent of KCABJ. It stirred up an entire suburb, angered a father, embarassed an ignorant girl, and redeemed my school. I wrote an article in retaliation to one published in the Teen Star by a suburban high school student who visited our school for the day and wrote about it. Her article managed to show people that the most prestegious high school Kansas City, MO School District had was as pitiful as all the others. My school, Lincoln College Prep. Academy, was also a historically Black high school (yea, they have those). It was a pillar in the black community. Our academic achievements were something the Black community & KCMOSD could be proud of. With a few strokes of her pen, she took us down. I wasn't having it. I struck back & took no prisoners along the way. That's how I am. I love contriversy and won't back down to it. Her father ended up storming into The Star demanding to know who I was. HA HA! I got the last laugh. Silly white girl.

I'll go to battle with anyone in print. Unlike a verbal battle, this shit is documented. You can't back down or switch up what you say. My well crafted, witty remarks can deliver gut punches that could never be as powerful if they were oral. The reciever is only left to reread them over and over again and either stew or reply. When I first learned how to interview people, I took pride in watching people squirm. I like to see you sweat. It means I'm doing my job. I temporarily hold the power of your image in my hands & I know it. I'm not afraid to ask difficult questions & if you choose to dodge them, I can note that in my article. I'm a fuckin journalism beast.

Blogging is as good as it gets. Instant publication, Uncensored, Large Audience, Feedback. Whoever came up with the idea was a damn genius and I'm lovin it. It truly doesn't matter to me if no one ever reads my thoughts. The point is, I'm published. I have my own little space on the World Wide Web that is dedicated completely to me. I have the privilage of expressing myself in ways that my ancestors only dreamed of. I have my own soap box, and it's broadcasting 24/7. If you don't like what I have to say then close the fuckin window, but you can't shut me up. That's what I love the most.

Celibacy: Raw & Uncut

I plan to remain celibate at least until I return to ATL next year (that's the plan, but I have a LOOOONG year ahead of me so we'll see). Besides kicking my expensive weed habit, this is one of the best things I can say I've done for myself. It feels like for the first time in my sexually active life, I'm starting to really understand the subject of sex. Although I find myself yearning for the touch of a man, it stops there. Instead of watching a man's walk to determine what he's working with, I find myself first looking at character traits. Sex just isn't as important to me. Unless it's with the right person, it just seems like it would feel empty.

With the proper tools, I've mastered the art of making myself climax in as short as a few minutes. I don't need a man for that reason. I prefer to have sex for intamcy. I don't want to feel that intamcy so it makes it that much easier to stick to my goals. I'm hoping that my sex starved ass won't go crazy once my feet hit that Georgia red dirt. So many scrumptious educated young Black men...a woman's head could explode!

Nightmares are Dreams Too

After 22 years of life, I've finally realized how pointless it is to dream. People say dare to dream...that's bullshit. Everybody is always telling you to dream, but no one takes time to note that Nightmares are dreams too. I'll say it here: NIGHTMARES ARE DREAMS TOO. My dreams are nightmares, and my future consists of goals & plans. It seems that every time I allow myself to "dream" I end up having a straight up nightmare. I dreamed of graduating from college, and instead lost my full scholarship and was temporarily disabled. True enough, I got it back after two years, but I attribute that to careful planning & prayer. When I first got the scholarship back I allowed myself to "dream" once again. I ended up finding out the school I absolutely loathe falsely enrolled me in two semesters and won't release my transcripts until I pay them $1,600. No transcript, No Clark Atlanta University. Dreaming will get you fucked up emotionally. My advice is to stop dreaming and stick to reality. Plan & Pray to get to where you want to be in life.

A Moment of Clarity & Enlightement

I just got back into this whole reading thing. As a child I was an avid reader, but soon the only books I dared pick up where either textbooks or assigned reading. It felt great to finish two books in two days. Yesterday I read Confessions of a Video Vixen & today I read Hiding in Hip Hop. These aren't the deepest books in the world, and I actually kind of hid the fact that I was reading them, but there's something I find endearing to read about someone's honest and open life journey. At one of the most confusing periods in my life, I am experiencing a moment of clarity.

I saw a bit of myself in both Korrine Stefans & Terrance Dean. Their parents heavily influenced their outlooks on life. Experiences they had in their youth that they tried to bury deep in their memories (or forget all together) often controlled the direction of their lives. They lied to themselves which meant they couldn't be honest with others. They were their own struggle. Although I'm not a "Down Low" man, or carry any nicknames like "Superhead" with a reputation to match, I understood.

I admit, I purchased both books with the intentions on finding out who was sleeping with who. I found something so much deeper. People can say what they want to about these authors but as I flipped the pages and dove deeper into their life stories, I realized that these books were not tell-alls. They were actually life stories, and through these stories, the authors could find healing. They were well aware that by publishing these books shit would hit the fan and there would be consequences, but it was something that had to be done. I respect them.

I realized that I, like so many others, am living on the down low. Though some people may know a skeleton here and there, no one person knows all the morbid items my closet contains. When the time is right, I'll share them with my best friend. Although I fear consequences I know that in a weird way I would feel relief if my secrets were known. I wouldn't have to hold them in any longer. In a way I feel vulnerable like my freshly shaven doggy daughter, Faith. Now that she can't hide behind her shaggy fur, she often curls into a ball or hides under pillows. I feel her pain. Although shaving her hair was best, it's hard being unprotected. I'm not ready to bare my soul and be naked in the world.

Til then, I'll find solace in these books. I'll find peace in knowing that I am not alone. I'll also find satisfaction that someone reading this blog will also identify with me and they won't feel alone. They really need a hotline for this shit. They have hotlines for everything else in the world. Maybe I'll start one up when I get rich haha! Check ya later, I gotta figure out how to deal with these freshly scratched wounds.

Cliche' Knowing is Beautiful

Just got my blood work back from the doctor. Everything looks good! Since my freshman year of college I've made it my mission to get tested and spread the word. I used to go as far as to take pictures of the experience to show that it's not scary. When I told the women taking my blood that I get tested every year they looked at me crazy. By the time I got done talking to them, they had gained a great respect for me. Get tested even if you feel you have not put yourself in danger. Just go get tested!

The term "Knowing is Beautiful" is very cliche', but who cares. Knowing actually is beautiful. Now when I watch good movies like COVER (ya'll gotta see, it's the bomb!), I can really get into the movie instead of wondering if I belong in it. Get the 20min oral swab or wait a few days for the blood test. Whatever amount of time you spend waiting for the results is not nearly as nerve racking as if everyday you are wondering your status.

Stop reading my blog.
Call your doctor/clinic.
Get tested!

Dear Sister Paterson

I can't put up with your shit any longer. You are condescending, rude, and you search for ways to belittle me and make me feel like I am less than nothing. You rub it in my face that you are holier than thou and such a good Christian. You may read the Bible and go to church, but sitting in a garage all day doesn't turn you into a car. This is the only time in my life I have needed you since I was child. You take every opportunity to rub that in my face. It's funny to me how you can label me as a "squatter," yet your face lights up with delight when you look at the brand new stove I gave you or while sitting down in front of the 32" flat screen TV that I gifted you for your troubles. You make me sick.

The last time I lived with you, I ended up in a mental hospital. Do you want to know the real reason why the doctors denied your visits? They said you were the major source of all my stress. You were the reason my body broke down. It was you. I resent you for everything you've put me through. I feel rage when thinking of you. I cry tears of hate when I remember how you've treated me.

When I was very overweight you turned your back on me. You looked at me with pure disgust. You made fun of how I walked, the clothing I wore, and even told me that looking at me made you want to faint. You told me I would die. I peeked inside your journal. You actually thanked God that I finally lost some weight. Why couldn't you just love me how I was? Why is it that you only respect me when I weigh 163lbs and wear a size 10? Why do I have to starve myself just to receive your love? If that's how shallow your love is, I don't want it.

Would you like to know why none of my friends ever come by to see you? Do you want to know why none of them ever tell me to tell you hello? They hate you. They hate you because they see how you make me feel. They are the ones comforting me and wiping away my tears. You put on a good front around people, but there's a little invention called the speaker. They've heard first hand how you speak to me. They have seen your disapproving stares. They don't like you.

I may live with you temporarily, but you can't control me. Stop telling me what to sleep in, what clothing I am allowed to wear, what time I have to wake up, what foods I'm not allowed to eat, and how to wear my hair. Contrary to your unpopular beliefs, I don't have to do things your way. You can't dictate what method I should use to put away the dishes, how late I can talk on MY cell phone, what ringtones I use or what rooms in the house I choose not to occupy. I am perfectly within my God given rights as an adult to read in the dark, sleep in my bra, close my door, and hang my clothes up rather than fold them. You are an overbearingly controlling nut job. FUCK OFF.

I find it amusingly frustrating how every time I express my heart, you flip everything and make it seem like you are a victim. Just because you are older than me and can quote Bible verses does not make you right. You are dead wrong. You smile and act like you are taking the high road, but I see past your facade. I'm done allowing you to make me feel like I am the bad person. I'm done feeling like I'm the one that's doing wrong. I refuse to keep believing that I am the reason I feel this way. It is you. It is all you and nobody but you.

It's wrong to hate a person, but I hate your actions. I hate how you've made me feel. I hate that I knew about dieting in elementary school. I hate that you taught me to be uncomfortable about my body then condemned me for not being ashamed in my adulthood. I hate that you can't see me as beautiful just the way I am. I hate that you never listened to me. I hate that you tell me daily how ignorant I am. If I was not a spiritual person, my next sentence would be: I hate you.

I still have a lot to say, but I'm choosing to end this letter now. You'll never actually read it and even if you did you would ignore its message. You are so stuck in your "spiritual realm" that you are out of touch with reality. I know you'll never change so I have completely emotionally disconnected from you. In my heart, you are nothing to me. I'm tired of being hurt, angry & confused. I am tired of knowing you. I wish we had never met.

Your Daughter,
Jaz

Ballet Meets Hip Hop

For those that are just tuning into my life, I got a few obscure details to fill you in on. I studied ballet/pointe from the age of 3 up until I was 17 (with a short break during middle school years). I've been doing hip hop for as long as I can remember but officially became a professional hip hop dancer at the age of 16 under DLW Management Company.

You can only imagine my joy when I learned that Big Boi of Outkast teamed up with Atlanta Ballet to produce "BIG." Take a peek at these clips!

Ps: You might want to scroll to the bottom of this page and pause the music playing.

Madness: White People Dreadlocks

For years I have been well aware that white people find it neat to lock their hair. Lately, I've been doing several google searches on every topic having to do with Dreadlocks. In my research, I have found that most websites are for white people. I'm a naturally curious person so I took a peak at them just to see how the other half lives. I'm all for the whole free spirit movement, but this shit gotta stop! White people, YOU LOOK DUMB! That harsh statement is coming from the most gentle place in my heart. Somebody needs to let ya'll know that your hair was not meant to be locked just as mine was not meant to be straightened.

Note: Ya'll just don't have the same virisitily as black people do. Get over it.

The only decent locks I saw were "Dreadlock Extensions." Using this method, kinky weave is wrapped around the straight hair to form what truly resembles a dreadlock. This costs between $400-$800. If you can't afford that then quit while you are ahead.

Your dreadlocks look unmanaged, dirty, and completely unruly. Just because you can get your hair to knot up with time and hours of backcombing, doesn't mean you should do it. Damn hippies!

Memories

This morning I was awaken to my mom informing me that one of her good friends woke up and had lost her memory. Miss. Lilly not only couldn't remember anything but one phone number, but had no idea who she was. How frightening! My prayers automatically went out to her. I love my Miss. Lilly. Ya'll don't know her but she's simply fabulous. She even starred in the movie Kansas City filmed in the Historic 18th & Vine District. I love her to pieces. This whole incident got me thinking about my memories.

Without my memories I am nothing but a being.

My memories make me who I am. All of the life experiences I remember have shaped me into Jaz. My memories determine who I shun & who I show love to, they tell me how to react in certain situations, my memories of what God has done for me keeps my faith strong.

If something drastic happens to me (GOD FORBID!) I pray I will never forget 5 friends:

• Lamarr Kemp - You are my hope. You took care of me when I was totally helpless. You carried me on your back even though you had a hernia. You taught me the power of friendship.
  
• Darwin Thompson - You are my best friend, my confidant, you truly know me & I know you. We will grow old together like Will & Grace! You taught me that I am not my past.
  
• LaTonya Jones/Brown - You are my sister. You keep me grounded & remind me of who I am and what I am capable of. You understand me in a weird way that no one else can. You taught me how to have a backbone.
  
• Crystal Monteiro - You are my first romie. You keep me spunky and let me know that anything in life is possible. You force me to stand strong on my values & beliefs. You taught me tolerance.
  
• Horacio Hill Jr. - You are my love & my rock. You showed me the type of love that God speaks about in the Bible. You taught me that love transcends existance.

After taking a look at this list, It's crazy that 3/5 I met while attending Clark Atlanta University. AUC love is a powerful thing. I love you all deeply, more than you may realize.

Dear Mr. Bill Collector

Hello, how are you? I know you're recording all of our conversations so I'll make this quick because you have me on record saying it before. I'm broke. You can't get any money from me because I have none. You've absurdly asked me if I can simply borrow money from a friend or relative. How retarded do you think I am? If I could just freely borrow money, I wouldn't be in this situation.

Your threats mean nothing to me. My credit is already fucked. I, like millions of other Americans, am facing foreclosure. I find your little bill tiny in comparison and therefore insignificant. Saying you'll sue me doesn't strike fear in my heart. You have yet to do it. Using legal action as a scare tactic is against the guidelines laid out for you by the government. I'd advice you stop.

I know it's you calling from the blocked number. It shows up "Unknown." You are the only person who calls me using that name. I'm deeply considering assigning you a ring tone. Speaking of names, I know its you by what you call me. My mother doesn't even call me by my full name. Your friendly strategy just failed. If you want to trick me, call me Jaz.

I've enjoyed arguing with you when I'm in a foul mood. You help relieve my stress. Unfortunately, our hate-hate relationship must come to an end. May I please get your address, my account number, and the amount owed? I am sending you a cease & desist letter. By law, you can no longer contact me. I hope your feelings aren't hurt. This is the best for the both of us.

Goodbye.

Yahoo! for a VP?!

How dumb could you possibly be? In case you've been hiding under a rock, Sarah Palin's Yahoo e-mail account was hacked into. Her personal e-mails now litter the net. If she doesn't have enough common sense to use a secure government e-mail account, how can she possible be a heartbeat away from running a country?! She's idiotic at best. I've been trying to keep my comments short and sweet about McCain's dumb decision, but this one I can't let slide. If her account wouldn't have been hacked into, it is very possible that she could have been sending America's classified information over this FREE e-mail service. Palin, step ya game up homie! You are a government official, act like it!

Big Woman, Skinny House

The title is a bit exaggerated. I'm not classified as a "big" woman anymore since I dropped some of the weight, but I'm still on the larger side of thick. As you know, I recently moved in with my condescending mother (referred to as "Sister Paterson"). I'm a size 14, she's a size 10. She won't let me forget. Instead of loving me no matter what size I am, she makes comments that would make a person feel horrible. She monitors everything I eat and criticizes the clothing I wear. Whenever you get done, I'm a 36DD...whatever top I put on shows cleavage! I'm 22 years old, I refuse to walk around this god forsaken city looking like a granny.

I'm young, flyy & sassy. I enjoy my curves and I flaunt them proudly.

Sister Paterson:
FUCK OFF!!!

Nerds Rule!

I was feeling creative this afternoon.

Lackluster Job Searcher

This morning I was awaken by a phone call from a temp agency asking me to come in to interview. I was not excited. The truth is, my unemployed ass is tired. I'm tired of job searching, interviewing, and failing drug tests for dumb reasons. I'm tired of wasting my gas, getting dressed up for nothing, and sucking at phone interviews. If I compose one more cover letter, I'm going to scream!

(shakes fist at George Dub'ya Bush)
Damn you for driving our country's economy into the ground!

Thanks to this horrible economy, I am competing against unemployed people with degrees. I can't help but wonder if the economy would have recovered by the time I earn mine. Being a career student is starting to look better and better. Truth is, I'm slackin' on my pimpin'. I'm sitting on a jewelry empire and a best selling book. My favorite professor was correct, Entrepreneurship is the key. It takes money to make money. Anybody feel like investing?

Yes, I made those.
Winter Collection 2008

The Miseducation of an Urban Nerd

Those "Nerd Nightmares" really inspired me to get my unemployed ass up and be productive. I'm currently writing a book. I plan to drop it by the end of September. It's called:

The Miseducation of an Urban Nerd:
Every Student's Guide to College

I figure, I'm an expert on this whole college thing so why not write a guide? I've been to 4 different schools in 4yrs, gotten tons of scholarship money, and am still pushing for a degree. Who better than me! Plus I want to become a motivational speaker at some point in my life. This is about the only thing I'm an expert in, so why not now? Every good motivational speaker sells a book. I'm trying to give back to the community, but no use in not using this as an opportunity to make a small profit while I'm at it. I'm about half done writing it and the cover is being designed as we speak. The above image can be found on the inside cover. I'm self-publishing...the internet, what a beautiful resource! The book will also be available for purchase both online and out of my trunk. Cop that, Cop that! I'll keep you updated with the progress. Right now, I'm about to lay it down so I can start fresh in the morn'n. Much Love!

Nerd Nightmares

When I'm called an "Urban Nerd," I embrace it. Nerds make the money and though often teased, we always seem to end up on top. What could possibly strike fear into the heart of an Urban Nerd such as myself? Having to compete with even bigger braniacs and not being prepared. Last night was filled with what I like to call...
Nerd Nightmares:

The Cause: You all know I got my full tuition/fess scholarship reinstated (AFTER TWO YEARS) and plan to go back to Clark Atlanta University fall 2009. I have a bit of normal anxiety concerning my workload. I'll be a junior, an honors program student, have to maintain my GPA, and will be living off campus. Each of these factors stresses me out in a different way. The biggest thing that freaks me out, is not being prepared.

The Nightmares: I dreamed I was in an Ivy League environment. All the geniuses from high school were present along with a hard up British teacher. To kick things off, I was late to class after discovering my car, Imani, was stolen. I had to explain the situation to the teacher and tell her I may be leaving class to take phone calls from my father as he tried to track down the car. The nightmare continues....

Un-characteristic of me, I searched for a seat in the back of the class. The teacher redirected me to the front row. We started taking notes. I couldn't see the board, I didn't have the right pen (I only write with Pilot G-2), I couldn't even read her handwriting. It was a class teaching us how to Research, but for some reason she was talking about the configurings of the human hand. As the other braniacs fought to answer questions, I was completely lost. Had there been assigned reading for the first day that I missed?
The nightmare continues...

I went to the cafe' where I saw the guy who stole my car. I don't know how I knew it was him, but I knew. His name was Sunny, he was a white man with surfer type blonde hair. In true "Urban Nerd" fashion, I hit him with the butt of my gun in the back of the head. Got my damn car back and stressed over the cash to get the steering column fixed (it had been hot wired).
The nightmare continues...

I went to the bookstore to buy the four required books for that British lady's class. That's when I remembered my refund check hadn't come yet. How the hell was I gonna afford them? Somehow I raised cash, stuffed the books in my backpack and headed back to my dorm room to study only to realize that I had no dorm room. I woke up wondering if I needed to buy a study room from the library (Club Woody), and weither or not I was truly ready to live off campus.
The nightmare ends.

50 Years, 3 Police Cars, 1 Flyy Gal

Note: These are the Flyy ass pony haired shoes I wore during my evening of discovery

Tonight, I was truly FLYY. Gold metallic dress, handmade necklace, pony haired leopard shoes. I was dressed to the nines as always.

This evening I attended my "grandparent's" 50th anniversary celebration (They are really my mom's best friend's parents, but they took me in as their grandchild at a very young age). I came to several relizations while there. First, I couldn't help but wonder if I would find love that lasts a lifetime as they did. As the MC went around the room asking couples married 50+ years I took mental notes:

• Don't be the one to walk away
• Women submit
• Live by your vows
• Men, say "yes ma'am"

It's amazing how these couples live by such simple advice. People are out here spending tons of cash on therapists, books & relationship seminars when all they need to do is just love each other. Have people forgotten what it means to love? Those who know me, know I'm not a Bible fanatic, seeing as it was written AND edited by man during King James' era, but it is the best instruction book I've ever seen concerning the subject of what love truly is.

Afterwards, I was pulled over by THREE, count 'em, THREE police cars for making an illegal left turn in the Westport District. I know I have dark tints, but dammit - Am I really that Gangsta?!

The Apology

Nothing really intriguing has happened to me today...the night is young & knowing me I could very possibly wind up committing 3 felonies in 4 states by the time the clock strikes midnight. Despite what the night holds for me, I can't help but sit in my bed and think about my first love: Clark Atlanta University. I also can't help but wonder what the hell happened to my "Apology Shirt."

Here's My Tribute:
Note: I'm feeling quite random right now so bear with me

• I'm sorry you're not as flyy as me
  
• I'm sorry you can't see the beauty in a plus sized woman
• I'm sorry it's 2008 and you still won't date a brown skinned woman
• I'm sorry you still think putting crack creme (relaxers) in your hair is cool
  
• I'm sorry you got so desperate to win that you chose a gun slangin', inexperienced, woman you only met once to run beside you
• I'm sorry you're 23 years older than Alaska
• I'm sorry you're gonna loose
  
• I'm sorry you're not a Clark Atlanta University student
• I'm sorry you think rounded circles in stepping is fine
• I'm sorry you can't step as hard as me
• I'm sorry you can't grill
• I'm sorry you don't even know what a grill is
• I'm sorry you think you've had real BBQ
• I'm sorry you don't realize Kansas City has the best BBQ
  
• I'm sorry you don't know how to get hyphy, go dumb, or get stupid
• I'm sorry you don't agree that "Thizz is what it is"
  
• I'm sorry you still use a PC
• I'm sorry your computer still gets viruses
  
• I'm sorry you can't get down with reggae
• I'm sorry you think SouljaBoy is hip hop
• I'm sorry you don't realize that I.Am.HipHop
• I'm sorry you don't have a Nintendo Wii
• I'm sorry you can't play Super Mario World or Super Mario 2 & 3

(Take A Breath...)

• I'm sorry your cell phone services aren't free
• I'm sorry my cell phone has never been cut off
• I'm sorry you don't know how to boil down chicken backs, throw in diced tomatoes, tomato sauce, mixed vegetables, and throw them in a pot with 2packs of Ramen Noodles to make a meal when you're broke
• I'm sorry your DVD collection isn't as extensive as mine
• I'm sorry you rely on MySpace to get dates
• I'm sorry I denied your friend request
• I'm sorry the only people who even know your record label exists are those you bombard on MySpace to add you as a friend
• I'm sorry no one wants to buy your shitty song for .99 cents
• I'm sorry there are still internet thugs
• I'm sorry internet groupies even exist

Name Droppin' my Troubles Away

I woke up this morning in a "Crime Mobb" mood to say the least. Could I be disgruntled because I'm unemployed? Away from the majority of my friends? Living a celibate life? I have no idea what the root cause of it all is. It may just be a side effect from being stuck in the house all day with a 75yr old granny with dementia and a 52yr old clone of Sister Paterson. 1000 Thank You's to whoever invented the door.

As I sit back and listen to Miss Rap Supreme's: Ms Cherry talk about never being caught without her tool, I can't help but wish I had one. In reality, I highly doubt I need one because then I'd really be quoting her "It's wheneva bitch, It's whateva hoe!" chorus. I'm really wishing I could blaze up right now. That way whatever is bothering me, I'd just say "fuck it" and move on. Unfortunately, that is no longer an option.

What options does that leave Her Royal Flyness? Hell, I don't know. I'm actually asking you. Misery loves company so I'd love to bitch n moan with another disgruntled individual. (Random thought: We call Missouri, Mizery, meaning I live in a state of Mizery, does that give me the right to feel this way??) In the words of Bart Simpson in the Simpson's Movie as he downed a pint of Jack Daniels: "I'm Troubled."

Me, Racist?..Not Interested!

I'm about as Colored as it gets...yes dammit, I said Colored. I grew up in an urban environment, attended public school, moved to the Black Mecca and attended one of the most illustrious HBCU's in the nation. I've never dated outside my race, nor have I wanted to. Truth is, I am in love with Black Men. I love everything about em. Other Black women bitch, gripe and moan about how low down they can be but they fail to realize that dogs are not race exclusive. I pose the "Racist" question, because that's what I was called countless times last night.

Here's the story:

Last night I got bored so I perused some Yahoo chat rooms only to be bombarded with IMz. Some of them were from lil yuggins, a few were of age men, but the majority were Caucasion or from India. I couldn't help but get annoyed. I'm curteous and actually a sweetheart if you sit and talk to me, but sometimes I just don't feel like being bothered.

• I was called racist for not wanting to turn my webcam on.
• I was called racist for not wanting to view their webcam (why the hell would I want to see a man playing with his tiny pink ding-dong? Let me see your face!)
• I was called racist for replying that I had never dated outside of my race.
• I was called racist for not wanting to add these random guys to my friends list.

Give me a brown skinned, well hung, go getter! Tan White men need not apply. So let me pose the question again: Am I Racist? Hell No! I just know what I want, what I love & who I stand behind no matter what. I'm that ryde-or-die chick any man is blesed to have. It just so happens that I choose to roll with my African American brothaz.

Dear Mr. X:

Thank you for letting me leave so easily. Thank you for allowing me to spread my wings and fly. Since leaving you I've regained my zest for life and feel like living. I'm happy now. I've lost 43 pounds since leaving you. I'm well on my way to good health. Mentally and Spiritually I'm doing just fine. I allowed you to lead me astray. I stuck by you even though you encouraged me to let my family drift away.

We blazed together. We laughed together. We shared some good times.

It all feels like a distant memory now. Perhaps it all went down in a dimension different than the one I've come to love. I prefer to keep my past behind me. That's where you need to stay.

Smoking wasn't a good look on me but you didn't care. I supported your jobless ass, I paid the bills, I bought the food, I purchased the weed. Never again. You've taught me many life lessons, mainly what love is not. For that too I thank you, because ungrateful I am not. I'm grateful you didn't put up a fight when I kicked you to the curb. I'm grateful you gracefully bowed out and called your mom. I'm grateful you never called me, and let that be the end.

PS: In case you're wondering, I never shed a tear. I never sat and reminisced on what we used to share.

Labor Day: Are You Gay?

Today of course is Labor Day, so me and my mom cooked for her friends. I took a video of the festive food!
(Gotta have the Louisiana hot sauce)

The dinner guests consisted of me, my mom, my grandmother, my god mother & two women from the church. After dinner we got to talking about some current issues. First of all, it must be known that they are all 50+. The topic of gay marriage came up. I'm young and very liberal so I'm not totally against the idea. It was my first time even talking about with anyone, let alone old heads. Gay, Lesbian & Transgendered people totally gross them out. Being the hard core Christians they are, they said it was a spirit. They all agreed: "Yep, definitely a spirit." Of course I'm respectful and also wise so I chose to keep my mouth shut for the most part, but I felt that was an unfair accusation. A person likes a person of the same sex, or feels they were born the wrong sex so they must be possessed by some sort of evil spirit. I was happy that one woman brought up the point of gender assignment and how some people really are assigned to the wrong gender at birth.

I'm Christian, but I hate seeing other Christians turn their noses up at people for committing a sin that we are actually unsure about. I feel that people should be able to do whatever the hell they like as long as it doesn't stop my paycheck from coming. It's not my place to pass judgment or tell you that you are surely going to hell. A girl I went to elementary school once said: "I chose to be gay the same day you chose to be straight." That's real. I'm not a lesbian so I have no idea what it feels like to be attracted to the same sex. Who am I to tell someone that they actively choose to like the same sex when in actuality, it was not a choice at all. I can't prove that it's not biological just like you can't prove it's spiritual.

Let people do what they do. Only God can judge them. Only God can judge me.

Janelle Monae

This girl is hot stuff. I don't like posting back to back videos, but what the hey! She hails from Kansas City, KS (rep for the town girl!!), and is truly doin her thang down in ATL. Diddy recently signed her to Bad Boy. Hopefully he won't sit on her like he does all his other artists. This is a clip of her listening party at my favorite Sunday night chill spot, Apache Cafe down in Atlanta, GA. Plug plug plug, check that out too!

Take notice of her amazingly timeless and soulful voice. Ladies take note that she is FULLY covered when she performs, this girl is selling her talent not sex (ahhh so refreshing).

One last thing: If you are interested in hearing a full song from her just scroll down to the bottom of the screen to my playlist. Violet Stars Happy Hunting is one of my favorites. Happy listening!