Chillin Like A Villian

As I'm such a loser I've been spending a lot of time, honestly way too much time on TV and Internet.

Outside of my "True Blood" addiction (books and show), I've recently discovered Weeds--I know extra late and I'm catching up on the seasons--

I mean, how come no one told me about this show?

It took me about....5 years to discover this show?

And here I thought Comcast was raping me yet again on the premium channels.

It's like every time I want to cancel some of these useless channels Comcast finds a way to suck me back in.

I was going to cancel HBO after "The Wire" went off...then "True Blood" and later "Hung" came along...I mean I like "Entourage" but it's lost its bite over the past few seasons...

Then I was going to cancel Starz...then my short-lived "Party Down" came on and later I discovered "Spartacus: Blood and Sand" (I'm a sucker for blood and full frontal male nudity)...

And then Showtime redeemed itself with "Weeds"....

*sigh* Comcast...you win again.

I also spend way too much time on Facebook, gossip sites, and other random sites.

Although this "Illuminati" crap is working my last...damn...nerves

People really need to invest in a book and not fucking Youtube!

I mean if the Illuminati is lowering membership requirements...I mean...can I get an application? I want to dominate the world too!

I'll even give a pigeon blood sacrifice.

You know, just to show I'm serious about this shit.

I mean I'll have to negotiate with this whole devil worshipping (I mean I stan for Jesus) but how about I worship the Soft Batch cookies that I be maxing at work?

*Watch some crazy nut bag send me an email about this mess*

It also doesn't help that I'm trying to get knocked up.

Yes. On purpose.

And yes with my husband.

You've heard it hear first: My biological clock's batteries are back in.

*lol* Side note: When I told my best friend that I'm trying to incubate a fetus for nine months...that's the first thing she asked. Outside of..."You Playing Right" was "I hope you're takin' a parenting class- I mean you did leave your nephew in the store that time..."

I mean...I told him not to wander...

We haven't been successful yet since almost 9 years of birth control has my body going haywire.

But the race is on...

Team Baby 2011 is at the starting line!!

New York, New York

Headed to New York for a short trip

I went last year and had a blast--with the exception of the biggest rat I've ever seen in my life trying to waltz its way onto the subway

Probably didn't even pay at that

We're only staying for a day- just wanted to get out of DC.

Folks move around so much I have no idea who still lives in NYC and who moved away.

I told my best friends to have bail money ready--one of my trashy gossip blogs states that Justin is filming somewhere in New York.

It's already understood--I will show the fuck out in the streets if I spotted him.

Who am I kidding? I'll probably do some lame shit like cry and shake in disbelief.

Chicago Recap

My visit home was *gasp* normal

Although I did not get to see my old childhood friend- I am a little upset about that-but duty calls while in Chicago.

Going home (now) is like a celebrity sighting- everyone is eager to see me.

It makes me feel good but at the same time annoyed- I felt like I spent most of my time running from one house to another and not spending as much time with the people that I wanted and tooo much time with the people I don't want to spend time with.

It felt so good looking out the window and seeing the Sears Tower (don't really give a damn about the new name- it'll always remain as the Sears Tower to me)

I realized that I haven't been home since Thanksgiving- a far cry from when I used to run home to Chicago damn near every month when I first moved to the DMV area.

Naturally hubby was late picking me up at the airport- no surprises there.

I also had to curse someone out in the airport- again no surprises.

I have no clue why men think it's ok to try to holler when you're on the phone with someone. How rude!

Upon seeing my nieces and nephews I realized that I am getting OLD *weep sob*

My nephew is almost as tall as I am (he's 9) and my neices are probably a couple of years from towering over me (3 and 4 years old). My nephew also looks so much like my brother it's eerie. He's my brother identical twin.

It felt so good to see those little faces although I don't see how my mother does it-those kids wore me the hell out.

That weekend was also "family portrait" time- my husband's family has a tradition of taking yearly formal pictures.

Everyone was there except for his sister-no surprises there. The heifer didn't come to our wedding so I expected her to flake on the family pictures.

It's safe to say I don't like my sister in law.

Naturally I also stuffed myself- entirely too much- but I couldn't help it.

Food and I have a passionate relationship.

Especially my Chicago favorites- funny I didn't eat much of it when I lived in Chicago- but move away? Boy I have dreams about White Castles, pizza puffs, and Harold's Chicken.

And I have to drizzle everything in mild sauce lol

So after the pictures, I spent time at my Aunt's house since I have a tradition of not attending hubby's fraternity picnic. I have zero tolerance for phoniness and lowkey perverted looks.

Since it's my mother's side of the family- had to keep my purse near me and zipped tight (no shade but um yeah they have roaches. Call it what you want but I don't see how people can live with bugs in their homes. An ant or two I can tolerate-maybe. But a whole damn roach community?! Nah son, can't do it. A centipede in the bathroom had me screaming so loud my neighbor came downstairs to see if I was ok. It took weeks (and a big ass bottle of bug spray and a visit from the apartment's exterminator) for me to go to the bathroom without checking under the mats.)

I am not a fan of bugs (or pigeons) and they were just...everywhere.

So you know I had to say something. I mean for real for real roaches having a block party and shit- I mean go in the kitchen a roach is frying chicken and shit.

It was NOT going to be a road trip courtesy of Tenacious- can't even go.

But since I said something, I mean again, how do you have people (not family) come over and you have bugs just every where- and the bold ones too that comes out with the lights on at that-I mean they were like "shit I live here too", it turned into a family argument and the tired argument that I'm "bougie"

Again, I may have grown up in the project but we did NOT have roaches!

I've been called bougie by my family for so long I don't even pay them anything attention.

Not to mention, I'm "bougie" on some dumb shit- like that day- I wore makeup for the pictures (nothing heavy, shit it was hot as fuck in Chicago, but my usual mascara, eyeliner and some eye shadow) and I was called bougie because I felt like I had to dress up to come over.

Bish please. Like I was going to waste a good outfit to shit talk and eat some food.

Or so the female roaches could side eye the shit out of me.

Then my lying ass cousin, yeah the same cousin I haven't spoken more than a sentence or two in some years, tried to drag my name into some sordid affair that occurred over 10 years ago.

One that I actually had no clue what she was talking about- but of course the intentions was to shit on my "oh so innocent" reputation.

Bish please. It's called dicretion. Use it.

I couldn't run out that door soon enough when hubby rolled up. I had to fuss though because he had my nephew out kind of late.

I'm a firm believer in bed time for children. That's what the fuck is wrong with children today- they're allowed to stay up way too late exposing their little eyes and ears to adult conversation and situations.

Hell I remember when I had a strict 9:00pm bedtime- no exceptions.

But the shit really didn't hit the fan until when we were leaving Monday.

Sunday was a pretty tame day- more bbqs and visiting family and friends.

So my father and I are not talking yet again- or I should say I'm not talking to him

Back story: A couple of weeks ago my father was diagnosed with diabetes (or "The Suga").

No surprise as my father has TERRIBLE eating habits- meaning if it's not covered in grease, salt, sugar or hot sauce- he is not eating it.

In addition my grandfather had diabetes.

So it's safe to say diabetes probably runs in my family.

Let Drama King (aka my father) tell it- he has terminal cancer or something.

Needless to say I was sympathetic but not entirely sympathetic- in fact I was surprised he was not diagnosed earlier.

Again terrible eating habits+medical history of diabetes= good chance of getting diabetes.

Naturally he bitches to my mom (who tattles to someone's mom) that I was so unsympathetic.

To be far: he called while I was at the airport for my disasterous Atlanta trip- I wasn't trying to hear shit at the time.

So on Sunday, I called him and told him I was going to be at my grandmother's house. Given that she's my only grandmother I have left I make a point of alway seeing her.

Now I made no mention of coming to his house-I mean that's an extra trip, ya know?

Besides he always drops my grandmother off after church.

So I get over there- he's no where to be seen. So I visit my grandmother and go about my business.

He calls at the crack of dawn on Monday as I'm getting ready to go the airport talking about he thought I was going to come over his house

Um yeah- when did I say that?

So I turn off my phone- I don't have time for that b.s. right now.

By this time he has stalked my cell phone, left messages on the house phone, and called hubby's cell phone--going into full Academy Award winning performance.

By the end of Monday oh he's crying to my mom that I "hate" him and all this jazz. I mean laying it on thick.

Now "hate" is such a strong word- I don't hate people. To hate someone is to dedicate immensive time and emotion toward someone-someone is often indifferent to your hate.

Have I hated people before? Yes. Do I hate people now? No.

Granted I can hold a grudge like no other however I am working toward resolving that.

Point blank: I just don't like him. My father, to me, is the most ANNOYING person on the planet.

And I do not like being annoyed.

I get especially annoyed when people:

1. Sweat me.
2. Expect me to sweat them.
3. Try to change me to better suit them.
4. Think they know me and know absolutely nothing- in other words, "assume" me to death.
5. Try to tell me about me--like I don't know who I am.

Not only that- he's so arrogant in his beliefs that he refuses to see anything else.

Example: My favorite color is Blue. I think almost anyone who knows me is aware of that fact- I may wear other colors but blue is my basic favorite.

-My father is convinced my favorite color is red. No matter how many times I've vocally told him, sent emails, did a few smoke signals, and wrote it out for him that point blank my favorite color is blue- he has stubbornly held fast that my favorite color is red.

Just the few minor-but major-annoyances I've dealt with my entire life.

So now I just ignore him. I've told him in so many words that I am not interested in pursuing an adult relationship with him- I have no interest in being "Daddy's little girl" and our relationship would probably be much better if he just left me the hell alone--but he is conveinently deaf-and blind-to my resistance.

And not only that- stop whining to people. It's like, I'm a grown ass woman dawg, what the hell can my mama do? What can my husband do? Hell what can my grandmother do?

I'm grown as fuck. And I'm past the age where someone can tell me what to do and I have no choice but to comply.

So he's on black out mode for this latest stunt.

So I'll be the bad daughter.

*dons villan cape*

On The Road Again

I haven't been this geeked about going home in a long time.

I mean don't get me wrong- I LOVE Chicago. It's hard to describe my affection for Chicago but it's my hometown.

I love everything about Chicago (except the weather).

Especially the weather. I've never known 4 seasons until I moved to Virginia--heck I didn't know Spring and Fall existed until 2005.

Naturally there will be stories--two of the "Four Musketeers" will be in Chicago (Me, Best Friend with my name, and ATL Best Friend)-- San Antonio BF can't make it.

We haven't been to Chicago-at the same time- in years. It's usually 2 or 3 of us in Chicago at the same time- and never the same combination lol

I have 7 people that I consider best friends--my best friends are more than just friends to me--they are family. These 7 people are the closest thing to people really knowing me because each person is completely different- yet the same.

Each person is also very special to me.

I know I am not the easiest person to get along with--my stubbornness is legendary and cutting people off is not hard for me to do. I also know that I can be a real bitch sometimes--hey it's acknowledged and understood.

I've grown up with these people- hell these friends remember skinny, awkward, goofy me. Since I did look like the stereotypical nerd (wardrobe aside) I was very self-conscious. I still am (sometimes).

Recently (via Face book--It has its sweet moments) I found my old best friend.

Now not that long ago, I found my other elementary best friend. We connected but naturally time and other circumstances changed things so we're not as cool as I thought we would be. We've talked on the phone a few times but...it's just not there anymore.

Through her I found out that our other mutual best friend was alive and well, has a child, blah blah, however they are no longer friends. Considering that these two ladies were best friends long before I came in the picture--I was shocked. Sure from what I remember, they always fought like an old married couple but I was very surprised to learn they were no longer friends--especially when I've reconnected with one.

Call me silly but I had visions of our old friendship reconnecting as if we've never lost touch after Freshman year of High School.

Based on how her tone of voice was and the fact that they were no longer friends (I naturally assumed that she erased numbers as I do), I did not ask for the other friend's number.

Lo and behold a couple of weeks ago--I received a friend request from this best friend.

I won't take credit--it took a bored night on face book to find the 1st friend and although there were several people with the same name none had pictures so I had to wait until someone posted a picture (I was NOT going to be lame and send messages to ALL those girls fishing to see if one was my friend).

However due to the diligence of another friend from elementary school (who I believe found almost everyone on face book (even an old teacher) from our elementary school) it was confirmed that I was, well, me.

For the record--naturally my last name has changed and I look NOTHING like I did in elementary school. Ya girl has filled up and out--and my hair is combed lol

And yes I was a lame--I was tooooooo happy!!

We exchanged numbers and called each other within minutes.

And honestly--it was like nothing has changed.

We picked right up where we left off (after hours of catch up that is).

It was funny because she commented that I am still the same person from elementary school. She was worried that I had changed but she was like the moment I said her childhood nickname--she began cheesing.

Not that we ended our friendship on bad terms--a dispute over a phone charge meant the end of our house phone. Not to mention we all went to different high schools. And in typical Chicago fashion--we didn't go into each other neighborhoods.

Ok well that's not entirely true--when I lost my phone, my mother was still super strict on my movements--basically I could only ride the bus alone to and from school.

And since I still have a bad memory when it comes to phone numbers, eventually I lost their numbers.

I did meet 3 of my future best friends however- and I guess the rest is history.

However I never forgot those two friends and it was always a series of events that prevented us from meeting up as we became adults. I knew people who went to both of their high schools, but as I figured, they operated on the outside of high school hierarchy (same as I) so while people "knew" them, they didn't "know" them.

I found out why they fell out--well one side of the story.

I have yet to catch up with the other to hear her side.

--I like to hear both sides of the story. One thing I don't do is play favoritism--right is right and wrong is wrong in my book.

I won't lie--what I heard deeply disturbed me--and made me very sad. From what I understand, this friend has led a life that makes me clutch my pearls. It is not the person that I knew--but again we lost touch just as we were getting interested in boys...and life.

And I'm unsure on how to proceed because based on the stories that I was told--how do you simply state "yes, you've done all of that" when most people would deny deny deny?

For example- I heard this friend sleeps with all of her "friends" boyfriends and take some type of sick pleasure in doing it.

And this is among other stuff that I was told.

I had the childish hope of reconnecting the two, thinking that they had a petty argument--but it is clear that that is not the case.

I am excited about seeing this friend face to face.

The Kid has returned to the Chi

Bad Influence

So apparently I'm a bad influence--grown as hell (27) yet I'm still influencing folks to do shit

I fucking guess

I can only laugh and shake my head.

I'm always amused by how I'm a bad influence- yet I turn out better than the person I've influenced to do "bad" shit.

Catching up with an old friend via Facebook (AKA The Devil's Playpen--the playground is reserved for that mess named Twitter) she had to the nerve to say that she think I was a bad influence on her.

And was dead ass serious.

I had to side-eye the shit out of my monitor--I mean this isn't the 1st time someone has called me a bad influence (and actually meant it).

Yeah in High School I cut class- boy I was glad our phone got cut off my junior year of high school because my mother would have been pissed to find out how many times I've actually cut school.

I didn't cut school to go over some guy's house (ok ok maybe once or twice- DJM), to smoke weed, to drink (again maybe once or twice- stop judging) but because, shit, I just didn't feel like going to school. It got to the point that school was boring. Apathetic teachers. Students who came to school based on what was on TV or to show off the latest Jordans. Random fist fights and security sweeps. I was just over it by Sophomore year. And it's not like I cut alone- I always had my partners in crime with me. And if anything I was peer pressured to leave school.

(That's my story and I'm sticking to it).

Yet these broads were never accused of being a bad influence.

We'd spend our day at some one's house with absentee parents and zone out in front of the TV or stereo until it was time to go home. Rarely did we take advantage of no parents in the house- our most daring thing was probably eating in some one's "off limits" living.

Yes I take pride in being, for the most part, a good kid.

Yet I still graduated #1 in my class AND went to a four year university AND graduated in four years with a degree.

However I was the "bad" influence---um your child didn't even graduate!

If anything sticking with me would have at least gotten you in the top 50 and admission into a community college of your choice.

I wasn't even fucking when your child was fucking yet it's my fault your daughter had 5 kids by 6 different men. It's my fault your son doesn't take care of his children.

...but I'm childless though.

Can't keep a job more than six months- definitely got to be my fault.

Yet I've kept the same job for pretty much 5 years- never late and have glowing recommendation (as long as no one peers too hard in my file in HR). I've never quit a job just because I couldn't get Friday off so I can get my hair and nails done. I've never been fired for arriving to work at noon...when my start time was 8 am. I've never been escorted off property for stealing (notice I said stealing lol).

Oh you still live at home with your moms yet can't lift a finger to pay the light bill. My fault too.

I've been out of my mother's house really since my high school diploma was in my hands- hell my room was turned into the "guest" room the week after I graduated.

As if a two bed room apartment required a guest room but Moms was on that fake bougie shit at the time.

I've never crawled back home with my tail tucked between my legs- and I have no intentions on ever being that person. One thing I love about my mother is she taught me the true meaning of independence.

Although, truth be told, watching my mother go through common pitfalls made me really not want to be like her too much-my mother has the worst money management skills I've ever seen in my life.

But that's my mother though- she knows she has bad money management skills yet made sure that I did not.

I had a friend who flunked out of school- bitch really thought she did not have to attend class- talking about she's going to "teach herself"

*side eye*

Yet when her parents caught wind and all but demanded she move her high yellow ass back home--whose fault was her lack of dedicated schooling?

MINE!

I had to let her mother know a few things (I know this now ex-friend lied through her teeth to her moms- made it seem like I had her out on the stroll instead of class) namely- I'm still in fucking school!

Yes we drank all the time, wild parties almost every weekend- that's true.

However hungover or not- I made my way to the bus stop to go on campus for all my classes. Given my colossal flop of a freshman year, I jumped through extra hoops to get my weak ass off of academic probation. I held down a job AND went to school full time. I got tutors. I actually cracked open the books I spend 2 hours waiting in line for. I stalked my instructors via email and office hours.

In other words, yeah I played hard...but I worked even harder.

Don't blame your child's failures on me.

I remember when my ex boyfriend's father basically called me trash and stated I wasn't good enough for his son.

Basically- hell the man called me trash to my face.

Grown ass man bullying a 16 year old girl- how big of you.

Again, honor roll student, respectful, well groomed (OK well my hair was/is still a mess but anyway...)--sure we lived in the projects. I'm not ashamed to admit it anymore- we were poor. Often very poor growing up- although I didn't realize it until later. Yeah my mother received food stamps (well a Link card- same thing). She wasn't out selling her food stamps- she was making sure her children had food on the table since working 2 jobs could barely cover rent, living expenses, toys, clothing, shoes, etc. Yeah the projects were rough but trust my mother shielded my brother and I from project living (although my brother later embraced ghetto living as if that something to brag about). We were actually the "stuck up" kids on the block because my mother didn't allow us to do half the things other kids parents would allow them to do. Yeah our neighbor's homes often looked like crap but my mother made sure our apartment was always neat and clean. No trash in our bushes and in front of our porch. No roaches. No mice. No one had to walk up pissy staircases and wait for shitty elevators. No drug dealing in front of our house- hell our entire block- the drug dealers had enough respect (and sense) not to slag that shit in front of their own homes. My moms wasn't a crackhead- she get tipsy from a sip of a wine cooler. My mother doesn't even smoke- she gets ill from the smell of cigarette smoke.

All in all, just because I grew up in the projects doesn't mean I was black trash.

I remember his father HATED for his son to come over my house (we had a long standing WWF Thursday Night Smack Down date night) convinced that he was going to robbed, raped, or murdered in the three steps from the curb to our house. I couldn't stay out that late on school nights (although I pressed my luck plenty of times) and his parents worked late on Thursdays so we couldn't stay at his home unchaperoned (for *gasp* we might have had sex or something). Wasn't allowed to drive the car over because someone might "break" in the car or "car jack" him for the car (as if car jacking existed in Chicago after 1993).

And now that I'm older I look at it as it's reasonable to have stereotypes about the projects- Hell I have stereotypes about the projects. I can't tell you the last time my black ass have even darkened the West Side of Chicago. I don't even like driving through the Ickies in Chicago. I haven't viewed my childhood neighborhood in years. I claim the '9 (79th & Ashland) and not 131st street, where I lived from age 5-17. I lock the car doors if I even see "SE" on a street name in DC. I assume that I can't rock the Coach bag when in a "rough" neighborhood in DC. Hell in Chicago, I take my wedding ring off when walking down certain streets in Chicago.

*end repressed bitterness rant*

But his father was soooooo extra- like it was his mission to break up us. And his father was a deacon.

Since I was a bad influence on his son.

Now look at me- happily married, stable job, live in a nice neighborhood, has a Bachelor's degree with a Master to follow. Married a great man who's well on his way to a PH.D before he's 30. No children (with the exception of my 4 year old tabby cat), no extended jail stints, no diseases--nothing.

Maybe people are right- I am a bad influence.

I guess when others look at my life and where I'm going, it's just a sign to give up hope and resort to fuckery.

So I'm a big softie...

I won't front...

I cried like a baby watching Toy Story 3

What can I say? I'm a sucker for a movie that pulls at the heart string

Man That's That Bull......

I wish I could say I had stories about my trip to Atlanta.

However I spent less than 24 hours in Atlanta.

Not to mention my bank account is now about $600 leaner.

NONE of them broads came to Atlanta- All but one on some bullshit excuse.

So you know I was hotter than fish grease.

And people wonder why I am extra selective on whom I go out of town with.

Spoke to my best friend (the birthday girl- the whole reason we were going to Atlanta) on Wednesday and Thursday morning- all was a go. Spoke to my other girl on Wednesday- shit was a go.

Called before I left the airport- shit was still a go. My girl was at work and they were getting on the road that night

(Never mind that when I purchased my plane ticket and reserved the hotel room everything said arrival THURSDAY and then I was hit with the “Well we’re going to make it a road trip and drive” with arrival time Friday but whatever)

Cheap bitches. I should’ve known some bullshit was going to go down- who knowingly likes to be on the road 8-10 hours?

After the flight from hell (Air Tran will never get another dime of my $$)

I mean I got to the airport NO ONE is at any of the counters. I was already annoyed because I tried to check in the day before and that morning and I kept getting error messages- but damn, no one is at counter?

Then the $15 bag fee *sigh* that’s that bullshit for real

Then there was Bitchy McBitchy and her mom (I guess it was her moms) who COMPLAINED from start to finish. Heifer had the nerve to cop an attitude because she had to check her FULL SIZE luggage “carry on”….I mean seriously- she knew DAMN WELL that big ass suitcase was not fitting under the seat OR the overhead compartment

Bitch stop playing

So to tune out the nagging, I put my headphones and snuggled under my Hello Kitty blanket *shut up*

I wake up- why is this broad under MY fucking blanket?!

I mean mad comfortable and shit then smiling at me and shit- Naw hoe I don’t play with my Hello Kitty shit. Shit pay about $100 for that lice infested brillo pad they call a blanket.

Then because we got to Atlanta extra early- we had to circle the airport. I swear we flew to Florida and back.

Turn on my phone- I got like a 90 page text message story.

What had happened was…

Story of my motherfucking life.

So originally it was six of us- me, Birthday Girl, Best Friend #2, Best Friend #2’s sister, Birthday Girl’s cousin, and Birthday Girl’s friend.

Oh…Birthday Girl’s friend decides she want to get another tattoo- yeah, another motherfucking tattoo- before she leaves for Atlanta on her other leg. Ohhhhh the tattoo artist goes too deep or some shit and fucks her entire leg up. She can’t walk- so she’s out.

We’re down to five people.

Then ohhhh Best Friend #2 and her sister just “remember” they have to attend a funeral Friday.

Now keep in mind I spoke to her on Wednesday. NO mention of any death. Birthday Girl spoke to her Monday, Tuesday AND Wednesday- no mention of a funeral. Birthday Girl calls her to let her know she’s picking them up soon- and NOW all of a sudden there’s a funeral to attend.

Now come on now- I don’t know ANY black funeral where someone is buried the same week he or she dies.

So I’m like, “Who is this person? What are they, Muslim?”

Like who just “remembers” they have to attend a funeral? Clearly you are not close to that individual if you weren’t aware he or she died in the first place but whatever.

So by then Birthday Girl is pissed (and I was extremely pissed as I’ve heard the story an hour later)
Best Friend #2 is like “well the funeral starts at 12, the repast is over by maybe 6, oh and I have to get my hair done, so maybe we can leave Friday night”

Hellllssss toooo the naw

What sense does that make?

So Birthday Girl is extremely pissed because it was Best Friend #2’s idea to drive in the 1st place! Birthday Girl wanted to catch a flight- like me, we are NOT road trippers- but she was convinced to take a chance and take this road trip.

So Birthday Girl is like well fuck yall we’re leaving tonight

So six people are now down to 3 people- me, Birthday Girl, and her cousin.

Meanwhile I am in Atlanta fuming.

Its one thing that I’m in Atlanta a full day before everyone else but I see right now I’m going to have to head back to DC.

Although my other best friend lives in Atlanta, our wires got crossed, and he thought we were coming next week (now this week) so he planned on going back to Chicago the same weekend I was in Atlanta

(Although like a real friend he offered to cancel his flight and remain in Atlanta)

So by this time I’m at Gladys Knight’s joint with my best friend and his friends- they’re listening to me Jap out on the phone- I’m like call me when you hear from your cousin.

Birthday Girl- like me- is not a night time driver. In addition, as pissed as I am, I did not want her on the road, alone, trying to drive to Atlanta.

So after eating, I went to my hotel (oh the Ritz by the way- an indulgence for the best friend- um yeah but don’t think I paid retail- DISCOUNT baby!)

Flawless property. I was fawned over so much it was embarrassing.

I’m in the room bitching to Hubby, bitching to my other best friends, and more importantly calling the suspect broads I call friends (no answers from them- FYI its Thursday- I haven’t heard from them since last week)

Birthday Girl called.

Ohhhhh well her cousin juuuussst remembered she had to pay her gas bill otherwise it was going to get cut off so she can’t go.

Right- the ol’ “my utility bill is overdue” excuse. Last time I checked you’d have to be behind quite a few months in order to get service disconnection. In addition- how early do you get your gas bill?

Right- that bullshit.

So my planned trip of debauchery and sexual harassment collapsed right before my eyes.

I’m like this is some bullshit and don’t ever EVER ask me to go out of town with any of yall for any reason- that $ (meaning the original flight and the stay at the hotel) could have been used for another trip.

Hell I could’ve stayed at the Courtyard for about $30 with my discount!

So in the morning I checked out and went back to the airport.

A return flight cost me an additional $213- pretty much the price I originally paid for the round trip flight.

Plus that damn $15 bag fee.

Then every time I turned around some dude was all up in my face (I mean seriously- do all the straight men in Atlanta work at the Airport?) and checking out my ass.

I mean I was wearing my uniform of a t shirt and leggings- but come on now?

The chick who served me my Midnight Train to Georgia had a bigger ass than me

(Then again she was from the Chi as well...lol…Midwestern Chicks have ass too you know)

Asking me if my ass was real? Do I get injections? Do I take my clothes for money (only when times are hard lol)…I mean really- dude can you please check my boarding pass so I can go through security?

Offering to buy me Popeye’s and shit (I won’t lie- I was tempted- fuck what you heard- I love Popeye’s biscuits)

Trying to take pictures on the sneak tip (FYI- turn the fucking sound off the next time- jerk face)

So I was back in DC less than 24 hours after I left that bitch.

Hot and annoyed.

Left one oven (Atlanta- boy I don’t see how people can do it- almost sweated my damn perm out) for another oven.

So I don’t have any real pictures of Atlanta

*sigh*

Take 2 of Atlanta will hopefully happen by the end of the summer.

Some straight bullshit.

ATL Shawty

Ok so I meant to write on Monday as promised but see what had happened was…..

Now I did have a quite hilarious story but between completing a three slide power point on the ethics of online advertising *fail* and straight clowning on the Vh1 Honors (if that’s what they want to call that epic fail of an award show) via G-Chat with my best friend- who had me in tears from laughing so hard.

I swear I was going to die laughing like the Toon Patrol from “Who Framed Roger Rabbit”?

Speaking of which…ummmm…yeah since I know you’re reading this…you know you’re mopping floors on the 8th circle of hell for talking about Fresh Kid Ice’s arm…and my husband is washing the windows.

But anyway- thanks to those two- the story escaped my thoughts. Well not the story but of course the way I wanted to tell it.

So this weekend my best friends and I are going to Atlanta to celebrate my best friend’s 29th Birthday.

(For the record- I’m now 27- just gotta throw that disclaimer in lol)

Why Atlanta? No clue. But Atlanta was the spot picked this year (last year was New York).

Now my friends are convinced that since Atlanta is the “spot” (allegedly) we’re going to run into a slew of celebrities.

Namely T.I.

My crush of yester-yesteryear.

*sigh* Outside of Prince, he was like the only tiny guy that could get it. And by get it, I mean he could get it with about 4 condoms on and a written contract promising he won’t try to kiss me or anything- I mean cute or not that herpes thing going on around the mouth is really not the business.

I’d hate to have to sue *lol*

Like this guy this weekend. All up in my damn face with a cold sore on the corner of his mouth. Trying to tuck his lip like I can’t see that shit. Talking about “lemme buy you a drink”. How about you let me buy you some Abreva? And shouldn’t you be quarantined or something? Trolling for booty and the lips are looking like the Appalachian Mountains.
*shudders* Cold Sores skeeves me out.

My girl is convinced that we’re going to run into TI out and about (and by run in that probably means low-key stalking) and it’s going to be a wrap.

Had to point out that from what I read on my gossip blogs sites Tiny (bless her heart because the face is just not it anymore) is willing to do anything, and I mean anything *wiggles eyebrows* to keep her man.

I was like face it G, she’s on some other level hoe shit while you’re just on the basic hoe shit.

Just get an autograph and keep it moving.

Of course I will have my trust camera along to record all types of fuckery that is bound to happen. It’s been months since I’ve seen my girls and since I’m the only one that’s married- I have to be able to prove that I can “hang” past 11pm. Shit a sista get sleepy lol

I was damn near going to sleep in the club last Friday- although that was more intoxicated sleep than tired sleep. I had entirely too much Sweet Tea Vodka before leaving and needless to say I was 3 sheets to the wind by the time we darkened the club’s doors. Already had a bouncer side eyeing me- however that was from a previous club incident and he had to throw my friend and I out the club because we (and by we I mean she, I turned my head to talk to someone I knew, next thing you know I was getting dragged out) got into in with the girl who takes money at the door.

Don’t get it twisted- I can still get low wit it- I mean I need help getting off the floor afterwards- but I can still drop it with the best of them. Although I have a feeling the music in Atlanta is going to take me back to 2003-2004 when “crunk” was the shit.


While they plan on spending time trolling for men, I’ll be looking for a shopping buddy

I mean the men in Atlanta do have a nice shoe game *giggles*

I know I know

I know I'm like that suspect dude that you random meet, get real real cool with, I mean daily conversations, dinner, drinks, get you comfortable enough to give up the Hello Kitty panties after a game of drunken Twister *don't judge*...and then begin playing Jedi mind tricks...pulling disappearing acts and ish...

I think my suspect ass Muse just sent me a text message talking about "What's Up" although we haven't spoken in about two months

I'll be back to blogging on Monday

Although I'm not sure what I want to talk about- this past drunken weekend, my recent trip to LA, work, married life or sex

Or a combination of all of them...

Facebook is the devil

Ok well not really

but close

One thing that amuses me about Facebook is the pure randomness

I'll admit that I am a Facebook junkie

I'm on it all day every day...mostly snooping and lurking

Oh yes, I'll hit up a photo album in a heartbeat.

Hell I'll even ask to be your friend just so I can look into your album

But I'm not on the catty "oh she/he has gotten fat/have seven kids/ugly significant other/oh's he/she is gay now/what a bad wardrobe" shit.

Sure it's always nice to see that hot nigga that paid me not a bit of attention in high school looking like Tyrone Biggums or the broad that swiped one of my boyfriends from me looking nice and busted...however I'm just nosy.

And I do have my limits...I won't request to be your friend when I KNOW we've had beef.

I just make other people request to be your friend *lol*

Don't judge me *lol*

And trust I know I'm not the only guilty party...as noted via FB messages and random friend requests. I just love the guys who like to send request just so they can ask if I have a man. Or because they've seen the profile picture and thinks it gets better.

One had the nerve to cop an attitude because I am married.

*shrug* If you weren't so thirsty, you'd see my husband in 95% of my pictures

But anyway....

I mean my claim to fame is that I at least know 95% of the people that are my friends on facebook in some shape or form. I've found old friends from elementary school, high school, and of course college. I have even found a few people I've grown up with and just lost touch over the years.

Low key- I've found a few exes. I'm 99% sure there's more out there but thanks to the name change, I haven't had many requests. So far only one...and I finally had to send him a message after blocking his request about 20 times to inform him not only are we NOT friends in real life, he's for damn sure not my friend via the internet.

And I would NEVER play myself by asking to be an ex's friend.

News flash: If you send a friend request and it is not accepted...give it up. Sending constant requests will not make me want to be your friend.

I admit I am always super geeked when I find people. Like super, super happy. I even found my best friend from the 6th-10th grade on facebook. It was like old times...

So sue me, I'm a lame

The 5%....eh that was during my "accept anyone who sends me a request* days. And one of these days I will get around to deleting them.

I mean I have high schoolers from other states as a facebook friend. I have "friends" that I only know through a mutual friend. I mean really now? I wonder what the hell I was smoking besides turkey.

I won't trip on how one b*tch had the nerve to de-friend me before I could de-friend her only because I sent her a message about her public bullying of some other random girl on FB. I was trying to be the adult and state that it was immature to have the girl's picture on FB with lil dicks painted all around her mouth....and the heifer promptly de-friended me.

Hmpf...Now I was going to send the heifer a nasty note...however I don't e-beef.

Outside of pure comedy (I mean I can't always get my shits and giggle from Craigslist "Casual Encounters" or "Missed Connections") I can learn everything that I want to about people from status messages.

If I want to get my daily church on...I look to my Jesus freak friends who can't resist placing the entire bible in their status message on a daily basis
...I believe in God, don't get it twisted, but ummmmm yeah...some people go a little bit overboard proving how much a Christian they are
....and it's also hard to take you seriously when you post a bible quote...then upload an album of you swinging from a pole on Saturday

Just Saying....

If I want to know all about your relationship status...everything from your boyfriend/girlfriend is trifling yet again for reason XYZ to "oh woe is me there isn't a man/woman out there that really "gets" me....to how many months your baby daddy is behind on child support and how you hate him (only to post a status professing your love three days later)...I can read about all of that
...And lemme tell you...there are a LOT of people on FB with FUCKED up relationship
...But these are the same people who are quick to cop an attitude when you post a reply...

I can scan a status and learn a little too much about people...it's crazy.

It's like "dude we had one class together freshman year...I can really do without learning you havent had a bowel movement in three days and should you go to the doctor"

Or what does it mean when "pus comes out" *shudder*

All of this of course further feeding my addiction to FB.

I mean now I have to def. scan facebook because there is a high school war of the world going on with picture and I'll be damned if some of my old high school pictures make their way to the internet.

I shudder to think of my pictures with the fly-a-way hair, baggy clothes, and thick glasses making it's way to the net.

I already had to notify family members that they will be instantly banned if they tag me to any old pictures that do not have my prior approval.

Hell I got a reputation to protect on facebook. Shit as much as I roast people on their wall or album?!

Nah, not the kid. I am not going out like that.

I've already began limiting my family's friendship on FB. Snitching and shit on me. My moms don't even have a facebook but knows about every single picture in my albums since I have snitching ass cousins.

Who tried to block me from their albums but they got the personal phone call curse out *side out* There will be no booty tooting and middle fingers pics on the internet.

Funny enough my father is on facebook. We're currently beefing because I REFUSE to be friend on facebook. Let him request my husband. As I had to quite rudely tell him, if we're not "friends" in real life, you're not my friend on the internet.

I don't need him all up in album, writing lame shit like "I love you princess" on my wall...or acting surprised that I am 26 going on 27 in May. Like *gasp* I wear low cut shirts! And short skirts!

And I partake in the alcoholic beverages.

He is clueless about me in real life so he can further remain clueless on the internet.

This coming from a man who thinks I don't drink *LMAO*

I remember at the wedding he was bragging on how my husband and I don't drink. Which was comedic gold for our friends.

Umm maybe because the reason we weren't drinking was because we were still drunk from the booze we consumed on Friday (and we got married on a Sunday). We definately are a match made in heaven as we both passed the fuck out at our respective parties.

In fact.... *looks at time*

Time for me to get back on FB right now...

Happy Valentine's Day

A commercial holiday nonetheless but still....

Happy Valentine's Day!!!

And speaking of work:

Job from hell is now a distant and unpleasant memory...last day was Friday...and I did not take a poo on evil, hating ass heifer desk.

I did however track snow into her office...HA!

I'm back at the hotel as an accountant now thanks to a hook-up from my previous manager.

So I guess I'm officially back in the building....and in charge of money!!!

Secret Confession of the Week

While it's no surprise that I am NOT a cry baby...No emotional female over here but

I cry every time I watch "Schindler's List"

And not just a few tears here and there

I cry throughout the whole movie. It's one of the few adult movies that will make me sob like a baby.

It took me two weeks to make it through the film. I kept stopping it because I was crying too hard to see most of the scenes

It's one of my favorite movies...and I watch it in secret just so people will not see me cry.

I also watch it only at night when my husband is asleep so he doesn't hear me cry.

Although he knows the movie makes me cry and ask why do I torture myself...

...but don't get it twisted, b*tch will still throat chop a negro.....

Secret Confession of the Week...

Ok so I used to stuff my bra...like I've recently stopped like four years ago *lol*


And no wearing a padded bra didn't have the same effect. Granted I'm not well endowed in the cleavage area but why do bra manufacturers think I want a bra that's filled with nothing but cotton?

However Victoria's Secret *shad up Paj* that I will endorse more than my endorsement of a pizza puff with fries from Nick's on 79th & Ashland in Chicago.

OMG the Bombshell bra from VS is like my new obsession. It REALLLLLLLYYY does increase your cup by two sizes!

I've gotten so vain that I refuse to wear my other bras outside. I mean I have real cleavage! And not the type that I have to press my arms against the side of my chest to push them out either

Where the hell was this bra during 6th period lunch Junior year of high school when I spilled juice all over myself and revealed that I was a fraud?!

Secret Confession of the Week

Often I find myself playing "peek a boo" with babies in stores. I can have a crappy day and a baby's gummy grin melts my icy little heart.

Maybe that's why children like to follow me around so much

I Know One Thing....

My dysfunctional family would NEVER see the light of day on TV!!

There's just some things you just do not do...and my family is one of them.

Bad enough, they had to come to my wedding, where I kept an eagle...and I mean an eagle eye on them the entire day.

I made sure my contacts were soaked, throughly cleaned and refreshed the night before just so I could give an effective side eye of death without blinking rapidly because one slipped into the corner of my eye.

I mean my family is just...no, no and hell no.

They would shuck and jive it up for the camera...and I just can't have that.

In fact, I would not even disclose my tv show to them because next thing you know...one of them would call me from the Greyhound station, with a fresh sew in, and the yak already in the white paper cup.

Ready to set it off because their Aldi's bag of clothes went missing.

Ugh I'm getting a headache just thinking of the possibilities.

Multi-Cultural Clubs Saves Me $$--Hell It's A Recession!!

On Saturday in a fit of boredom, I decided to throw on some clothes and hit the streets.

Now, for the record, I am a hermit crab in the winter. If I didn't need to pay bills, I probably would never go to work from Nov-March. It is very hard to get me out of the house in the winter.

Hell who am I kidding? I wouldn't go to work at all if I had my way. I don't really like my new job...but that's another post.

So Hubby *when all of my friends are being lame, being married has its benefits* heard about a "new" club in Adams Morgan and wanted to check it out *his friends were being lame as well-once again that marriage benefit kicks in*.

"New" meaning it's probably been around for a minute but Black folk are now just getting up on it. That always seems like the case in DC. You'd drive by a spot and never pay attention...but let you see more than 10 black people in line and it's on and popping!

Now here we are walking about 6 blocks out of our way...in the cold...while I'm trembling with frost. I am not so old where I am able to sacrifice fashion for the cold. I mean I had on a short dress but dammit I had on tights.

Of course we walk up to the spot, after dodging drunk people, frozen pools of vomit, and the homeless...all in all an average night in Adams Morgan

We get to the club doors...and what do we see....

A line that's moving swiftly with a POLITE bouncer at the door. He actually held the door open AND said "Please" and "Thank You" to every person.

I was pleasantly surprised.

One thing that I hate about clubs in the winter is that they will force you to stand out in the freezing cold for HOURS just to prevent people from entering and enjoying the "Open Bar" hour(s).

On another note: What's the point of sending those annnnnnoying mass texts that no matter how many times I hit "stop" they just keep coming? In fact, I'm not even sure how most of the club texts reach my phone since I don't hit the clubs as much as I did in my hey-day. Not to mention I'll get the same texts about 6 times in one day?!

Mass forwards are already of the top of my "don't send to my damn phone" list but these club/lounge texts are a close second.

What's the point in advertising "open bars" and "doors open at 9", "ladies free until 11" if promoters are going to keep everyone outside? Shit its cold out! Knowing damn well someone is going to be in line toes turning blue because it was such a good idea to rock open-toe stilettos in 20 degree weather because it's the only thing that really goes with the outfit you're wearing.

Don't judge *lol*

So anyway, I'm pleasantly surprised that the line was moving swiftly.

We open our wallets to pull out cash and here's another kicker: NO COVER charge?! As in ALL night, female AND male (I do feel bad on how men are taxed), no one pays to get inside?!

You mean I don't have to pay $20 to get into your rinky dink club? No arguments with the bouncer because after freezing in line since 10pm, since its 11:01, the "ladies free before 11" text doesn't count? No getting put out of said line because now that ignant bitch whose cold thus grumpy side gotta come out because your toes are frozen and this dude is on that bullshit? Now you're going to the back of the line to try again because you'll be damn if you're gonna go back home to watch "House" reruns and shit that 4 block walk back to the car seems awfully long so you'll just loudly bitch to your friends about this bullshit and this is why you stop going out to the clubs?

Once again...don't judge *lol*

So we get through the line, no cover, no overly-aggressive and badly made up chick taking the money and taking too long to count out your singles...we go upstairs and...

Not one Black person in sight. Clearly this is a multi-cultural night.

Oh yeah, no mandatory coat check. You can carry your own coat around the club. No demand that you check your coat for $5 (with the ever increasing TIP jar) only to have an argument at the end of the night because your coat was "lost".

Ok that didn't happen to me...but my girl *lol* No one wants my 6+ year Old Navy pea-coat (mind you it's still in excellent condition although this might be the last year for that coat...bitch is getting a lil snug 'round that middle area)

Now partying with the "multi-cultural" crowd doesn't faze me. As long as I stay out the hair tossing chicks way (I'd hate to fuck a bitch up over flicking her hair in my drank), and when I hear too much loud whooping, I MOVE with the quickness...I'm straight.

I give a big sigh of relief. I know a couple of things:

1. Tonight, I am sure no "Nigga" Moments will pop off.

I may get splashed with the occasional beer but at least I'm not dodging fist fights, a potential stabbing, baby mama throw-down on the dance floor, the who stepped on my new Timbs fight, the why is this bitch in my VIP area toss-out and the list goes on....

2. I know that my hair is def. not going to get sweat out.

I hit the Dominicans up every two weeks and they are excellent at keeping my hair from the homeless chick bun that I rock when I am far too lazy to plug up my flat irons.

I mean I'll be honest...I only fucks with Chi-Town House Music...meaning when our music come on--we JUKE.

I'm not down with the techno/electronic versions of songs that should never have that annoying ass beat. ALL songs are not meant to be that rave music type shit.

It seemed like no matter how hard people danced, the air remained nice and warm. Either the club had a bomb ass central air system or...people just can't dance.

Just stepping into a majority black club, I am instantly slapped with humidity. No one could move in the joint and the air would still be on Amistad.

When I leave my hair is slicked to my forehead like I've danced my frustration off the entire night instead of dodging fists and African club boyfriends.

Speaking of a club boyfriends, that leads to another point:

3. I know I def. do not have to worry about the club boyfriend.

Since I've gotten married, it seems like when I do go out, my club boyfriends substantially have increased. I don't know if it's the simple diamond bands-since they are real diamonds-my rings increases my chances of getting jacked for them after the club. Or maybe it's similar to pregnant coochie--banging a married chick is like an aphrodisiac.

Or maybe because my disinterest is genuine thus signaling a "challenge" lay.

Or maybe I've gotten better looking *yeah, that vanity is still there*

Dunno what it is...but I get club boyfriends. More specifically, the black guys who are NOT American. If there is an illegal immigrant in the club, chances are he'll be in my face before the DJ begins the dancehall portion of his mix. Immigration would catch hell people just from following me around the club for a few hours. Border Patrol has nothing on me, ya dig?

But in a multi-cultural spot? Boy bye. Any Black guy in there is NOT checking for my chocolate ass. And any other guy checking for me is definitely looking around to make sure Ray-Ray is not sharpening his shank against the stairwell.

4. I will have a REAL drink.

Not the overpriced and watered down creation cooked up by the bartender. Although I know how to sniff out the ones who will make me a stronger drink.

But there…I didn’t have to do all that.

Meaning leaning over to showcase my boobs.

And since I am a tit-less wonder, that means I have to lean all the way over. Hell 95% I’m leaning so far over I can just reach down and grab my own glass and ice.

However, I have made a very wise investment in the new VS Miraculous Bra and lemme tell you…The Two Cups Size Bigger is NOT an exaggeration. I’ve even had a friend ask if I were pregnant because my tits looked huge.

With that bra on, I can hide my Presidential “Itty Bitty” card.

Bra off…I’m just a Fraauuudddd *lol*

I paid my money and received Vodka & Cranberry with more than enough Vodka in there.

Although a slight side eye as I think those potent drinks results in hella date rapes & waking up with some stranger’s dick in your mouth…

5. I don’t have to walk around with the “stank face”.

And I don’t do it because I just think I’m that bitch. Like “how dare this crusty nigga come over and ask me to dance”

I do it to keep the club boyfriends at bay *lol*

I also do it as not to lead anyone on. I’ve gotten cursed out sooo much for being married and in the club. “False advertising” I believed one guy said to me.

Although I told him the only false advertising that I was doing was portraying the breasts he was staring at as real.

I don’t go out to “meet” people. I go out because either I’m forced or I’m just there to dance.

6. I really didn’t have to dress up.

Now although I can kill it when I want to on the fashion game, I make no apologies that I am mostly a jeans and t-shirt gal.

More specifically, jeans and shirts that I do not have to iron.

Now I was killing it with my lil two-toned dress, tights, and pumps but looking around the club, I probably should not have bothered.

One thing I LOVE about multi-cultural spots-I can dress however the hell I want.
If I want to rock my best Old Navy flip flops, my ripped jeans, and a regular t-shirt, I can do that.

No unconscious desire to out-dress other women.

No wearing sky-high heels that I will either abandon on the dance floor or on the walk back to the car.

No sore feet from said sky high heels.

I can dress down and GUARANTEED someone will compliment my outfit…and mean it.

And most importantly:

7. I can leave before 2am and I am not getting the crazy look.

Although we did not stay long (we ate at TGI Fridays before we came…you know that 3 courses for $12.99 menu meant the -Itis was sure to follow soon after), I felt fulfilled.

One thing I don’t like about clubbing is the always constant need to stay at the club until the lights come on and they toss us out.

Me? Give me an hour, maybe two, and I’m ready to go. By 1am, I’m checking my phone to see if it’s time to go. There’s only so much dancing and drinking I can do before I lose interest.

Another sign that I am growing up: Drinking to get drunk does not amuse me anymore.

My liver is thanking God right now.

Outside of the times where we were “escorted” (i.e. thrown the fuck out), I cannot count too many times where I have made it home before 3-4am after going to the club. I have far too many club booty friends and not enough “let’s go the fuck home” friends. Not to mention the unspoken “We come in together, we all leave together” rule. There have been plenty of times that I have been tempted to sneak out and catch a cab home…but damn that unspoken rule!!

Sometimes I wish I had more White friends…they’d abandon whoever they came with in a heartbeat! I mean on some “yeah I met this guy, yeah he kind of looks creepy, and I think that’s a blood stain on his shirt but he’s so cute, so I’m going to leave with him” and it’s like “ok girl bye call me in the morning!”.

I mean no copying down license plate numbers, taking a picture of his face with your camera phone, getting a blood sample, running a background check on the I Phone (there’s an app for that)…nothing!

After getting another drink, Hubby and I left and made the loooong cold walk back to the car. Spent less than $25 combined, tip included.

Compared to the $40-50 a normal club might cost (and that's if we get in for free)…

I looked at my phone.

1:15AM

Now that’s what I call progress.

I’ll be hitting the multi-cultural spots more. Far easier on the wallet…and my feet.

Of course, it won't be long before Black folk discover that spot!!

*lol*

Oh Boy...

I wish I can say I have humorous NYE stories...

...but I don't

For NYE, I went to the movies & was back home well before midnight.

It was part laziness & part strong dislike of cold weather

Why do people think that I like cold weather due in part because of my Chicago roots?

For the record, I tolerate cold weather but I do not like it.

So after watching Sherlock Holmes, we came back home & watched tv and sent mass text messages *lol*

Ugh how "married" couple.

Now I can expect more questions concerning my ovaries for the next month because I know my family thinks we spent the night sexing it up so we can produce a grandchild.

As if I'm going the planned pregnancy route...can we say "oh damn that was the week I didn't take the pill on time & the condom broke" baby?