Mu-SICK.

I hate Kanye West. He’s a fraud in my not so humble opinion. If you really listen to his CDs and not the hype of the media, he always talks hostilely about college, but wears backpacks and “preppy” frat boy clothes. He’s a phony. While everyone was praising Jesus Walks as the literal second coming of rap (not Jesus thankfully), the next track released from that CD was about oral sex---women performing of course. Then there were the times he was on Def Poetry—a very positive Black Star affair with Mos Def—he talked about killing his babymama. WTF??

My latest gripe with Kanye “Mama’s Boy” West (took is mother to an award show) is his current single Golddigger. I’m so sick of this ish! Who wants a man that has nothing? Nobody. Just like men don’t want a woman who looks like the bottom of someone’s shoe. Are there big fat women or mannish looking bullbacks in music videos? Nope. (I won’t even get into how female R&B bubbleheads help perpetuate the “I don’t need a rich man, just one that loves me” BS, while men continue to say “get a dime” and nothing less.)

Men are desired for their money, status and power. Women are desired for their beauty. Those are ugly, true facts of life. I’m sorry to be the one to say it. (I’m really not, but I want to seem more modest.) It’s unfair to all the penniless men and all the ugly girls, but it’s true. There needs to be a part two to that song. Something like: Now I aint sayin he a superficial boy, But he aint messin wit no ugly toys. Or: Now I aint sayin he a shallow willy, But he aint messin wit no fat fillies. I could go on. But I’m an attorney not a rapper.

It’s really insane how much this stuff bothers me.

Listening to Get Behind Me Satan.

It happened again.

My co-workers have heard me complain about this a million times: why doesn’t anyone believe I’m an attorney? I actually told someone yesterday ‘I’m a prosecutor for Jefferson Co.” And do you know what the response was? ‘So, you have a law degree?’ WTF!?!?! I was like ‘yes.’ I left out the part where I should have said ‘yes, you idiot I have a two degrees and one is in law. and protected the public from the bad people but I think I may give them your address so we can stop stupid people from procreating.’ But I didn’t say that part. Is it my young (and beautiful) face that throws them? Is it my gender? Is it my race? Whatever it is, it gets me steaming mad. Another time I gave my place of employment and the response was ‘so, what are you a secretary?’ Nothing against secretaries. I have one of the best, cantankerous, and funny ones out there, but I’m standing there in a suit. I’m thinking of getting a t-shirt made with an up arrow and the word ‘attorney’ underneath it. Am I being sensitive? Probably. Should I just get over it? Surely. Will I? Mostly like later, much later. Am I really this angry? Yes. (sorry, I can’t be nicer, it just ain’t in me.....today anyway.)

Go to the Movies or How to survive Turkey Day

Happy Holidays my….well, you know, what. I’m telling you, I’d rather eliminate all holidays and just have random days off from work. No stress and no pressure. It’s got to be effing Hallmark moment. Impossible. How can it be a Hallmark moment when your paternal grandmother is scarier than Katrina and you maternal grandmother is at the gambling boat? Tell me what makes the Holidays happy when your pimped out OLD uncle brings someone to the family dinner younger than you? (Is she legal?) What’s so joyous about the incessant question: “when are you getting married?” Peace to the world, my foot. Peace to ME. Peace of mind. You won’t see me at any family gathering this holiday season. I’ll be at Village Eight or Tinseltown (when I feel like shelling out the real dough). I’ll be combing the aisles of Hollywood Video. I’ll be wondering why there are not that many people at Olive Garden. Holidays, Smolidays. It’s a crock. The American dream (read: illusion) is so overrated. Oh, yeah….I’m in a bad mood. Happy Effing Turkey Day.

I’m shallow. Come join my cult.

I really need to get a grip. I’m not a 10...more of a 7. I know I’m funny and have a beautiful face, but there is that extra roll or two I have around the middle. (To me, FAT CHICKS RULE, but that sentiment is seldomly shared.) But my point is....I love pretty guys. Michael Ealy. Brad Pitt. Al B. Sure! (showing my age!). Jude Law. I love them! I mean, a guy can be short but if he has killer good looks, model good lucks: I must flirt with him. I must have him. I must touch him. Hmmmm.....what was I talking about? Strong square jaw. Spiky blonde hair. Piercing blue eyes. Shaved head. Coal black, sexy skin. Brooding artist with beautiful black hair. I’m not picky. I just want him PRETTY as hell. Something I can look at for hours and not get tired. Can some local psychologist give me a pill to cure me of this sickness? Is there a special clinic trial at the University of Louisville for which I can participate? Surely hospital-town has one specialist to cure me. Even though everyone is superficial and I need to repent for my evil ways. We shouldn’t judge people on how they look. That’s something they have absolutely no control over. Just like being a girl or a boy. Gay or straight. Tall or short. You’re born ugly or cute, thank or curse genetics. I just hate ugly. God save me from my shallow ways.

I'm Felicia's putrid small intestine. (If you get what I'm referencing.....you win nothing.)

Listening to "Okay" by Nivea ft Jermaine Dupri & Youngbloods

I was off Friday or Why a State Job ROCKS!

I didn’t have to work on Friday, because it was Veteran’s Day. I know! Veteran’s Day!!! I thought about the vets for like two minutes as I was channel surfing in my pjs. I saw Dum-Dum Dubya defending HIS war in Iraq and I almost puked. Even tasted a little bile in my throat, but then I took a sip of my icy cold Diet Coke and ate some popcorn. Ha! I know most of you are like: lazy government workers, but I’m far from lazy and very closed to being the envy of you all. I mean, really, with my salary, I deserve a couple of extra days off. I’ll admit there are some slow and irritating types working for the state or the feds (DMV and County Clerk you really need a seminar on customer service), but most of us work hard for little to no money. We’re the unsung heroes of city. We keep everything going and you don’t even know it. You corporate rats can continue to race around your little maze and make the stockholders and CEO obscenely wealthy, I’ll just serve the public and luxuriate in my many days off. I wonder if we get President’s Day?

Note to Everyone

Using expletives is in poor taste and prohibited by this service. So if your comments have bad language they will be removed. Happy posting!

Happy Birthday to me or Why I can say whatever I please.

Arcane. Acerbic. Hyperbolic. These are the words that could describe me. If you don’t know what they mean: Look ‘em up, dummy. You could also choose a few choice curses and female animals, but I wouldn’t if I were you. I’d keep it nice. But if you feel the need to say something rude or crude: a pox on your house. (Always wanted to use that on someone, I feel absurdly elated I could squeeze it in somewhere.)

Another way to describe me is brutally honest. I’ve never bit my tongue or held anything back. Of course, this has helped and hurt me over the years. A couple of years ago I decided not to participate in the secrets black people keep from white society (think about most of the things Chris Rock says). I will not continue to defend positions just because that’s the party line. Criminal activity in any form is wrong. The NBA is not an alternative for college. A lot of rap is stoopid, low, crass, and misogynist. Not all police officers are bad. I could go on, but you get the picture. The problem with my attitude is when you say things similar to that you get labeled. But I never cared for labels, plus I don’t care if I step on toes.

And to all who seem to care: I am not looking for a good Black man in Louisville. I’m looking for GOOD man regardless of race in the vicinity. Life’s too short to limit yourself to just black men. (Hint: all you professional guys have a chance, especially all you doctors.)

HINT: Self-deprecation, insecurity, and feeling of neglect are very unattractive.

Listening to Citizen Cope: The Clarence Greenwood Recordings.

Exception to Every Rule

I don’t normally do this, but, hey, you read the headline. To my anonymous commenter from November 6: Dude, why’d you blast me on the internet? That’s so crude and low class. First, anyone who knows me knows I’m broke (check Sunday’s CJ for verification), and would never pay for a man’s meal. I don’t even want to dignify the rest of the asinine comments with a response. Luckily, I have moved on to something more satisfying. Like work. Like someone else. That was mean. But my motto is : so what?

And to the guy from Cincinnati that moved away from Louisville to seek his fortune: Good luck in Ohio. Make a fortune and move back home. Well, considering you may never find the girl of your dreams here....stay in Cincy.

Listening to John Legend.

I can have fun, don't tell anyone.

I went to a bachelorette party on Saturday night. Yes, I was apart of a group of giggling females with one lucky girl walking around with a mini veil. (I wasn’t jealous of her AT ALL! Seriously, I wasn’t it.) It was kinda fun. And I’m a stick in the mud. I mean I can be. But, we ate great food, drank some spirits, and danced the night away. I wasn’t looking for a good time, but I it found me. I was ready to be pissy and mean, but I laughed and cracked jokes on all the rhythmless guys dancing. Of course, we had our share of Eight-Armed freaks to deal with, but of course, I handled it with grace: only called one guy a jack***...well one to his face anyway. I consistently amazed at how many people come out to Fourth Street and I’m glad it’s a success. I hope they continue to expand it. A good idea would to make an “older” section: like jazz club or chill out lounge (like Maker’s) for the mature audience who don’t want to do anything “just a little bit.” Oh, and we need another little shop or store other than Fashion Shop. I’m not sure why Dillard’s felt it necessary to leave, anytime I was in there people were shopping, but I’m also not sure why they have a whole store in the Mall dedicated to men’s clothes that’s ALWAYS empty. So, I had fun, somebody call Ripely’s. (I truly need a attitude adjustment....I’ve got one on layaway.)

Where are all the middle class Black men or why Louisville is yucky

I could get in a lot of trouble for this, but who cares? Certainly not me. People fought merger tooth and nail, because of various issues (I say because they lacked vision). Now, people are fighting the stadium idea as well (for those same reasons). We can’t be Mayberry and Chicago. We have to choose. In Mayberry there was one stop light. One sheriff. One deputy. One telephone operator. All Andy did was lock-up the town drunk, Otis. If you want to live like that, fine, move to Poe-dunk, KY (no offense to all my friends from ‘poe-dunk’, ky, y’all are very nice people...of course it kinda begs the question since you all moved to Louisville to get away from poe-dunk, but I digress.). Merger, the stadium, 4^th Street Live, the influx of new hotels, Waterfront Park and various other advances in our community are to attract young people, tourists, conventions, and corporations (collectively and more easily called M-O-N-E-Y). The Brain Drain is real. (If you don’t know what that term means, nobody is really concerned if you stay or go.) Ask any successful Black woman in this city and she will tell you the Brain Drain is real and alive. The pool of marriageable Black men in this area is abysmally LOW. Of course, according to Newsweek is low for all Black women (Article by Elise Close in 2003 called “The Gender Gap”), but here it seems crushing. I’ve lived in a larger city, where there are tons of black lawyers, doctors, engineers, senior computer analysts, and business executives. Girls, let me tell you: it’s NICE. I mean it’s wonderful. I could have a date every weekend if I wanted. (Of course, many of these men are whores, but that’s besides the point, because most successful with status are whores, most men period are whores, but I could be just really cynical.) I know tons of successful black guys from Louisville, they just don’t live in Louisville. They live in Atlanta, Chicago, New York, LA, etc, sheesh, some even live in Cincinnati. I’m not saying I have to have a professional. But dammit, why should I want any thing less: I’m one. I have nothing against blue collar workers (except for the dirt under their fingernails). I just don’t have much in common with them. Uh-oh, I sound like a snob. Guess what, I am.

************************************DISCLAIMER***********************************
The views of this single, Black girl are her own and not representative of the whole Black race, so don't go up to your Black female co-workers tomorrow saying stoopid stuff. And nobody is picking on the Black man or blue collar workers. (But if your feelings were hurt too bad.)