Rude Awakening...

Why is God punishing me?

I know I said I’ll go to church more and repent my sins the last time I was hugging the toilet begging for His mercy but damn I didn’t mean right away. I mean I need gradual steps to get back in church. My mama should have never made it an option when I turned 16 *rather than mandatory, you know how Black mothers are when it comes to the church* because I stopped going. Got tired of it. Sh*t I can praise from the house watching BET Inspirations*lol*

But nonetheless, the Good Lord is punishing me.

Crack of f*cking dawn on my day off, where I sleep until at least noon-ish unless attack cat demands attention and jumps on me until I get up to throw a pillow at his ass, guess who is ringing my f*cking phone at 7:46 in the mornin’ *crack of dawin’/now I’m yawnin’/wipe the col’ out my eye/see whose this pagin’ me and why* Ahh Good ol’ Biggie took the words right out my mouth.

My f*cking Father.

To all the newbies **and my usuals Hey T, Honey, Diva, and Isis** to put it in a nut shell: Me and my Mother’s Sperm Donor do not get along well. He is the eternal boil on my ass that disappears and just when I’m feeling nice and good, here he comes again. Our conversations never end on a good note usually because he likes to keep up this front that we’re the World’s Perfect Father/Daughter Duo. In reality, I love him but I don’t love him. If he died tomorrow, I would probably cry but I wouldn’t fall out for dead or anything. My mother is a different story. I would have to do the “ghetto funeral” thing, throwing my body on the casket, screaming and wailing as if Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Ice Cream has gone off the market or something. And it wouldn’t be an act. Scary sometimes the sh*t I dream because I can visualize all of this. And while I snicker and laugh **inappropriate humor/outbursts of laughter at work** at these antics that goes on typically at family funerals, I could so see myself draping my body over my mother’s casket and probably passing out.

**shudder** Ok I don’t like to think about my “Rock” departing this earth so let’s move on…

So my father and I don’t have the best relationship. Especially not when I am roused out of my sleep by not one, not two but three phone calls from his ass. Even called the cell three times. A big NO-NO although we are both under Verizon sh*t I like to preserve those any time Verizon to Verizon minutes *lol*

But I do feel like a piece of sh*t though as I know why he is calling. And I meant to do it I swear but it slipped my mind until it was too late.

I forgot to call to wish my grandmother “Happy Birthday”.

**winces** I know. I know. Damn “Granddaughter of the Year” just out the window now. But see what had happened was…I forgot. Yesterday when I woke up and he called to “remind me” aka Nag, I said I was going to do it when I woke up. When I woke up, I said I’ll do it after I finish this blog entry. After that I said I do it after I shower. By then it was 3 something and I know she goes to Bible Study rain, sleet, or snow. Hell nothing is keeping Granny from her and the Lawd. So I figured I’ll give her a minute to get home and get settled. I went to the National Archives Building with the boyfriend and surprisingly I had a good time. Very informative and gee golly I got to see the original Declaration of Independence and the Constitution which I had to learn in the 8th and 10th grade in order to pass History. End sarcarm. People in there crying and sh*t over this withered ass piece of paper. Forgive me for being born without the Patriotic bone. Must be left in Africa somewhere. I did enjoy the visit though. It is amazing the sh*t that is in that building. So it wasn’t a complete bust. Initially I didn’t want to go as I can do without the history lesson or educational feel **damn Graduate School has conformed my boyfriend** but it was nice…and air conditioned. Another plus.

By the time we got home, I was still going to call her but of course I got on my addiction—IM---and before it knew it, it was after 10:30. One thing I don’t do is call anyone’s home after 10:30. I don’t know why but unless you call me first, I never call. I think that’s something that has been drilled in my head by my mother. And the fact that most (at least 25%, a lot considering I only talk to about 10-12 women on a regular day basis) have small children and I always seem to wake up the “baby” and then I get cursed the f*ck out since she just put him/her to sleep and do I know how long it takes to put him/her to sleep? Actually I don’t as I don’t have any children. And the last time I babysat, I went to sleep on the poor baby. Sh*t when Tenacious goes to sleep, better take that as a cue youngin’.

So no calls after 10:30 pm. Ever.

With that being said, I did not call my grandmother. What a horrible grandchild I am. I know excuses, excuses and I do know the “excuses are tools of incompetence that builds monuments of nothingness and those who specialize in them seldom are seldom good at anything else”. Oh gawd how many times was this drilled in my head? *shudder* I’m going to call her today, I promise.

So of course he calls to chew me out. And although I know I’m wrong, I don’t want to hear it dammit! Especially not from Mr. “Since I’ve Been Saved, I’m So Holy And You’re A Heathen” because he acts as if people can’t forget or make a mistake. So you know the conversation went downhill as I am 23 years old and I don’t need a f*cking lecture like I’m f*cking 12 or something. I know I act like I’m 12 sometimes but please don’t talk to me as if I am a small child.

I live on my own. Pay my own bills. Have a great job that pays well. I have graduated from elementary, high school, and college with high to decent **college broke my straight A streak** marks. No drug use or arrests…that he knows of. No children. No diseases. No “major” embarrassments to the family.

Dammit I’m f*cking grown. My mama told me so and dammit her word is Gospel.

So this has me waking up on the wrong side of the bed on a hot as f*ck Wednesday morning. He will not blow up my f*cking phones all day as well. After I said my piece and hung the f*ck up, it’s over. I don’t wanna hear it any more. It’s a dead issue to me. I was wrong. I’m sorry and I will rectify my mistake. As far as I’m concerned, the issue is over. Stop crying over spilled milk. I can’t go back to tomorrow even if I wanted to.

He makes me want to lash out at his ass like White kids do their parents. The most I do is display my attitude and hang up the phone and even then I tell him I’m hanging up the phone. I don’t curse, I don’t call him out of his name **he goes from Daddy to Father**, I don’t disrespect him but he’s not going to talk to me like he’s crazy. Sh*t I’m a grown ass woman. Stop acting like you’ve been around my whole f*cking life, like you know me oh so well but can’t tell me what’s my favorite color.

Damn he causes me to want to drink! The eternal boil on my ass. He’s getting closer and closer to not getting that invite. Lucky if I let his ass in the church. Hell my brother can walk me down the aisle.

Ok…Got that out my system. Whew.

I plan on going swimming today. That’s right, the hair is not done right now **too fucking hot** and it’s been tied up all week, which isn’t going to last, Friday I am going to get my hair “did” damn that, I look 12 with a pony tail. So I’m going to take advantage of this and get out and swim. And yes I can swim. Not all Black people have a fear of water *lol* I was on the swim team in high school. Swimming is very soothing to me…until the bad ass kids get in the water. Although I’m already wet, I hate being splashed with water. Weird right? And I am not a damn life guard, read that damn magazine if you want while little Johnny is in the water. Little Johnny will be one drowned ass child. I’m not in the business of saving lives.

Why was I called a “cheap b*tch” by a homeless person? Ain’t that about a b*tch? He was jangling his little can and sh*t and I walked past him. Sh*t I didn’t have any change and I was trying to get to Cold Stone to get some ice cream. Now see had he not called me a cheap b*tch I planned on giving him the change from the ice cream. He f*cked all that up. I just looked and him and laughed. Dude I have A.C. to go home to. Let’s see if that f*cking box has some ventilation.

I’ve upped my blog reading as well. Damn you people for being so f*cking amusing!

My blog crush…ahh…I think I’m a stalker now. I check his page the first thing every morning. One of these days I might actually comment. I am so lame right now. **sigh** Off to T. Cas class I go. I need to take some notes for the first exam.

I do realize I write too much. Bear with me people, I’m trying to phase it out slowly. I’m still in “I have a 8 page paper due tomorrow, I’ve done no research, barely have a topic, or read the book…Let me crank out 8 pages of bullsh*t and pray she doesn’t take off points” phrase left over from college. Funny enough those were the papers I’ve received A’s on while the papers I actually prepared for were lower.

And I never write anything down. I write based on what ever motivates me. I call him **yes even my psyche is male** my Muse. He’s not too far removed from my Jamaican Dancehall persona. Besides I have to be in the “mood” to write.

See I’m stalling…Let me call my grandmother right now. Maybe I can get back on her good side.

**UPDATE--I called my grandmother and we had a nice long conversation, at least 3 hours. She wasn't mad or anything, she was just happy that I called, which of course made me feel super guilty because I haven't talkd to her in a month. We talked for a long time, I finally aired out some but not all **she's not ready for the real sh*t yet** of my issues with her son and while she defended him, she could feel where I was coming from. I felt really good after our conversation. Me and "Him Upstairs"? We're not talking right now. Pray it lasts....**