Happy BBQ Day

My weekend was a little boring. I didn’t really do anything that was stunning or wild. I did go see The Devil Wears Prada and it was funny as hell. I thought the movie was really cute and the clothes they wore were stunning, of course making me wish I could afford real Chanel and Gucci instead of the knock-offs.

I refused to see Waist Deep or Superman considering I call “WD” another Baby Boy and if they already made a Superman before, I damn sure ain’t going to waste money to see a “remake”. I did hear both were decent though but I rather waste money on actors’ I actually like. With that said, I have to see my husband Johnny in Pirates of the Caribbean 2. It’s something about his weird, “I look unwashed” ass that makes me tingle. I just keep collecting “WB” husbands, don’t I? Ooh and don’t let me get on that southern boy Matthew…he can kill my time anytime.

Sunday was another laundry day. While I have enough drawls to last me for quite a few months *since that’s the only time I get the motivation to wash, when I run low on panties*, unfortunately the same can’t be said about the boyfriend who was down to his last two pairs. What is it about men where yall are too damn lazy *or cheap* to buy new underwear? Elastic just falling out the waistband, holes all up and through the drawls, discolored, bleached, just looking trifling if you ask me. And have a fit when we toss out a pair to atrious to wash. And that having 10-12 pairs just will not do. Especially since yall sh*t comes in a pack. You don’t have to wear the $52 Calvins all the time. That $7 pack of Hanes will do just as nice or Fruit of The Looms. Women shouldn’t be the only ones rocking sexy drawls. Drawls looking like yall been fighting wars in them and sh*t.

Then as soon as I was going to get a few laps in swimming, it started raining. I was so pissed. So I sat and watched some tv. I watched Gone with the Wind on I think Bravo or something. Now while I don’t like the movie *or the book* I do love how it is shot. The movie, frankly, is some sh*t and I’m not just talking about the obvious racism and whatnot. I mean I like Scarlett *hoeness and all* but the heifer needed some help. B*tch was crazy. But I do appreciate the “golden” age of cinema. I like the general way the movies were shot. Nothing fancy, no real special effects, lots of vibrant colors, close-ups, and the correct angles of the camera. Hey what can I say? I took a few film classes in college *attempts at “blow off” classes* and I found them to be very interesting, which of course brings my general critiques of films up a notch.

But I won’t lie though. I cried when Bonnie Blue died. I was on the floor sobbing like a damn baby. My boyfriend came in from work looking at me like I was crazy. And damn Clark Gable was a sexy WB. I heard he played for both teams, but whatever. I’m too lazy to Google that fact so I’m just going to accept it as thus. But damn he was looking kinda good in that movie. Hell I woulda gave it to him in the parlor. Three times. With the petticoats on. Well come to think of it, I probably woulda been a field nigga or something but still…He was looking a little tasty.

Yeah I sat through that long ass movie but hey it’s a decent movie. Although I am not a crier, put in an emotional movie or hell a Disney movie and I’m crying. I find that weird that at sh*t I should be sad or cry about, I won’t. But Mufasa tumbling off the cliff while Simba died? I cried until Hakuta Matata. Never mind I own the DVD and I know the movie word for word. I still cry at the same scene. Oh and don’t put on Titanic. A b*tch is crying the last 15 minutes of the movie, especially at the end when the old lady is sleeping and she reunites with Jack. I have like the gasping cry. Of course I cry when she drops the diamond into the water. Is that bitch crazy? I would have dived in that bitch for that diamond. Even though I laugh every time I think of the band. And the band was playing as the ship went down… Damn Steve Harvey and the Kings of Comedy. I haven’t been able to look at parts of the movie without laughing. Hell I know one thing: Tenacious would have gotten a damn seat on the life boats. I know that much. Black folks would have been killing *and looting of course, f*ck you mean this money is going to go down with the sh*t, Ay Joe, pass me a pillow case* folks left and right. Oh we boguarding our asses onto a boat. And we wish a muthaf*cker would…

Today as I said, I plan on hitting up a few barbeques and my boyfriend wants to take a night boat tour on the nasty ass Potomac. Water is nastier than Lake Michigan. Of course I had to remind him I am not a life saver. The boat goes down, you either better kick them damn legs to shore. Especially since you started laughing because I was crying when Jack froze to death.

So I guess I used up my crying quota for the year with those two movies playing back to back. Guess I’m back to being “hard”. I just can’t be one of those damn girls who cry all the damn time. I just want to shake those type of b*tches into submission. I’m like, “Damn MAN UP before I punch you in your chest” *LOL*. Just be crying for no damn reason at all. Of course “WG” are prone to random crying fits but I have seen it on the rise with Black Girls. I mean I can see crying because you finally looked in a mirror and realized how much of a clown you look with that bogus as f*ck outfit **those onsies velour short sets is not for everyone** and the weave with four different colors…but sobbing because you and Ray Ray got into it? B*tch please. You better cut them eyes and roll your neck like you got some sense! F*ck is these tears all about? Man Up Ladies. Man Up.

I only cry when 1) some sad sh*t goes down *death, serious injury* 2) movies I consider “sad”, and sorry “Belly” was just a sad movie 3) I am angry beyond words. And the last one, you better run in the opposite direction because I’m moving to kill. I don’t get the last one very often but when I do, hey I get a little violent. Well I get violent when needs be anyway, but this is violence strictly off of impulse. Like just slap the f*ck out of you while you’re talking impulse. Throat chop your ass type of violence.

But I promote non-violence of course.

Maybe I should try to enroll myself into another anger management class. No note taking this time.

Of course to ruin my mood, my father called and we had a few words. I love the man but I don’t love him at the same time. Paying child support and dumping me off at your mother’s the weekends when you “beg” my mother to have me does not constitute as “Father of the Year”. You paid child support because you wanted to. Everyone has told me how my mother refused your money and you took her to court so she could accept it. But this is the same man who threw a damn fit when I got a letter in the mail at 18 that stated I could continue receiving child support from you because I was attending a four year university and I could take you to court for money. And you called and all but threatened me not to do it and I told you to “Go To Hell” because I nor my mother wanted your money *He was convinced my mother set me up to do it when it was an automatic letter generated by the state as I was about to become 18* and I started to sign the letter out of spite but I ripped it up and threw it in the garbage. Yet he dubs himself as a “perfect” father. Brags on how he “took care of his own”. You didn’t do sh*t special. Oh wow, a man who took care of his responsibility. Oh wow I forgot that was/is so rare. But where were you during school plays, trips to the doctor, PTA meeting, Report Card pick-up, helping me with my homework *and cursing me out when the way you did math proved to be the wrong way and I got a low score and it was my fault because I wasn’t paying attention*? Don’t even know my favorite color but swear you know me better than the back of your hand. That hand must be awfully unfamiliar to your ass then. I rarely saw you except for a random weekend, my birthday, Thanksgiving, and Christmas before I was 10 and those were the happiest times of my life. Then when you remarried you decided to play the role and started to demand your parental rights like my mother kept you from me. My mother has never bad mouthed your ass. Never called you a dead beat or anything like that. I don’t know where I get my general dislike of you *maybe my godmother whom never did like your ass* but I haven’t like you since birth. It’s a family joke now but everyone told me how I cried and fell out every time you came near me. As long as you kept your distance I was cool. You tried to pick me up at Venture’s one day when I had wandered away from my uncle and I threw such a fit, security arrested you because they were convinced you were trying to abduct me. It took a call to your mother, my mother, and my aunt to convince them to let you go. We’ve never had a good relationship so don’t ever catch one with me because the last time I came in town I didn’t swing by your place. When I lived in Chicago and we were less than 2 miles away I never came over. What makes you think I would do it when I moved away? I called you on Father’s Day and your birthday *lucky I remembered this year* so be thankful no one had to call and remind me to call you this year. You’re already a centimeter away from me writing you out my life. Don’t stand around like you get credit for my life. My MOTHER has that credit. MY MOTHER. She is the reason I am where I am today *ok and that’s not great but still…*lol* I cried at MY college graduation because my mother’s chest was so full and proud. She was proud of her baby. It took my mother’s stubbornness *and belt* to get me out of bed for all of those academic programs that she researched and found *to my disinterest* She dragged me to the bus stop and made sure I made it to those programs. She’s given me her last even when I knew she didn’t have it. What do you do? Make a five hour lecture on why should you give me $20 for a bus ticket so I can come home. And you wonder why I don’t ask you for sh*t. Where’s my damn car? The car you have been dangling over my head for two years? You don’t have the money but oh you have the money for a 2006 Cadillac. I didn’t even want the car paid in full. I said just the down payment and I can make the monthly payments and car insurance. I researched places, makes, and models and yet still nothing on your part.

But you’re the world’s greatest father and our relationship is sooo perfect.

Live in the land of Denial if you want but don’t ever step to me incorrect in your life. I rather have a damn dead beat father for real than a dead beat that pretend like he isn’t a dead beat when he really is. Stop quoting to me that I have a father unlike other people who wish they knew who their fathers were. Trust many of the people I know have a “F*ck Him” attitude about their deadbeat fathers. Maybe I’m lucky because I know you. You’re not somewhere out there in the world or unfortunately not of this world anymore. Yes I’m lucky I have a father but pretty damn unlucky considering it’s you. I love you as a father but I don’t have to like you. I merely tolerate you for the sake of my grandmother, your mother. I love her to death and I would never hurt her by revealing how I really feel about you. So I play the role when she’s around. The “Good” granddaughter. No embarrassments on the family *besides my unruly mouth* Good grades *they never saw that freshman year report card*, great manners, always ladylike *yeah right lol*…Just perfect. Of course my mother’s side know the real me and I guess they get a kick out of my “role”. I see the little chuckles and looks when my grandmother brags to her friends how I never have taken a sip of alcohol. In fact I “detest” alcoholic drinks. Actually I detest rubbing alcohol. But rum? Bring it on!

OOOHHHH He burns me up sometimes.

Let me go grab a rib tip and simmer down…

Don’t pig out too much everyone!