How do they sleep at night?

Since my son came back home to live with me, his father has basically disowned him and barely speaks to my daughter, although he says he is not mad at her. Now my thing is...you want to be mad at me, FINE. You still have financial obligations with regards to your children. My daughter is going to South Africa this summer and her school will not allow her to proceed with the process until her account has a zero balance. They called me yesterday and asked if I could send her to school today with a check for $471. Of course I said, "Sure, no problem." And she will definitely have it. However, that money is needed elsewhere. He won't respond to my emails or phonecalls. Yesterday I texted his wife and asked her to relay the message to him that the $300 that he owes me since september plus half of the $470, totaling $535 would be greatly appreciated. FYI she feels my pain and is trying to figure out a way to leave his abusive ass at this very moment. It's not good when you have to go home thinking of your escape plan for the night. I just don't now how these bastards sleep at night.

Guess who I saw?

Yup! Mr. Softee!

Listen, if it is cold enough to make my nipples hard...then it's not warm enough for ice cream!

Men need new material!

So I was walking the dogs this morning and I noticed a few police officers standing in front a car service storefront. I thought, I wonder what happened there? I didn't give it too much thought and continued to walk the pups praying for them to do their business so I could catch the 8:15 bus. JACKPOT! Cupcake began crouching. So I bent down to pick up her poop (I think I am the only one in Bushwick who picks up after their dog), and I heard one of the cops say, "Damn I gotta use the bathroom too!"

*pause*

Me: Are you insinuating that I should pick up your poop?
Him: No, no... (undetectable mumbling)
Me: Have a nice day.

So I continued walking, thinking WHO says that?

Now he tries to recover.

Him: I got two dogs. Can you walk my dogs too?
Me:Ummm How much are you paying? (I'm usually prepared with witty responses, but I was at a loss)
Him: How much am I paying? *pause* Can I come talk to you? *starts walking over*
Me: *mumbles curse-words* I'm kind of in a rush.

The rest is too unimportant and long to document.

If any men should come across this post, please adhere to the following:

Do not make animal noises to get our attention
Do not ask us if you can have some of what we are eating/drinking
Do not ask us why we didn't purchase you one of what we are eating/drinking
Do not call us ma, mami, chula, sexy, boo, etc.
Do not make those I-want-to-eat-you-up faces while licking your lips and looking us up and down
Do not ask us to pick up your poop
Do not ask us to do the things you see us doing (for you), in a poor attempt to strike up a conversation (i.e. you see us taking out the garbage and say, damn ma you wanna take out my garbage?) Notice: the example was a doubly whammy because it started off with Damn ma
Do not tell us that you want to "CONVERSATE" with us

The list can go on and on, but if this post helps just one man, I am happy.

Just shut your damn pie hole

Not sure what my mood is today. I woke up this morning and my whole body hurt (courtesy of Fibromyalgia). I was tired and didn’t feel like doing the whole get-ready-for-work thing, so I decided to call out. I called one of my co-workers to ask her to do something for me, and she told me that some of my other co-workers were talking crap about me not coming in, and bitc*ing about me not making copies of the lottery tickets for the office pool we did this week, blah, blah, blah. I got so upset that I called my boss back and said I was coming in. I got up, got ready and took a cab to work. I was ready for war! But of course people only talk crap when you are not there… one of them did approach me about the copies (the main one that was talking crap) but he did so in the nicest playful tone he could muster up. Jerk.

THEN… I ordered a sandwich….yes I have balls like that… come in at 11am and take lunch at 12 lol. I ordered cheese on a roll, with mayo and onions (don’t ask).

So this is how it went….

Me: Hi can I have cheese on a roll with mayo and onions
Him: You want cheese on a roll with mayo and onions?
Me: Yes! Lots of onions! Thanks!
Him: Ok.

We hung up and thirty minutes later my sandwich arrived. Cheese on a roll with lettuce, tomato and mayo *record screech* Where the F*ck are my onions? Of course I call back just to let him know that my onions went missing but mysteriously I had a sh*t load of lettuce and tomato. He promised to send me a giant onion next time. Clearly he didn’t understand the morning I had, and how badly I wanted onions. And clearly he thought that his little onion-humor erased my frustration. I am breaking up with that deli (that’s a lie).

I have to tell you that in the midst of me writing this blog, he (the sh*t-talker) came over to tell me the longest most irrelevant story ever. Have you ever been listening to someone, but you begin to have an out-of-body experience? Three minutes into his story, my mind wandered. I imagined myself slapping him wildly. I imagined myself grabbing random items from my desk and throwing them at him shouting, SHUT UP! For the love of God just SHUT UP! I was quite abruptly brought back to reality by a hand resting on my shoulder and a voice, “Isn’t that strange…I mean who would do that?” I had no idea what he was talking about.

Please send help.

Why are crackheads up so early?

I mean, they seem to be out all night, and when I leave for work in the morning, they are still out and about. What's up with that? Did they go home, go to sleep and agree to meet back on the corner at 8am, or have they just been out ALL night? It's a mystery to me. When I have a day off from work, my favorite thing to do is sleep in a little. Didn't they get the memo that you can score crack at any time of day in Bushwick? There is an unlimited supply. It's not a first-come-first-serve type of thing.

My girlfriend told me the funniest story the other day...

She was in the barber shop when the door opened and in came this crackhead woman with a 20lb lock and chain around her neck. "Anybody wanna buy a lock?" she asked, her mouth twitching with anticipation. *crickets* She just stood there twitching while everyone stared in disbelief. "The only thing is," she continued, "I ain't got the key." Now why in the world would anyone want to purchase a lock with no key? She knew she didn't have a chance in hell of selling that damn lock. But damn it she tried, and I love her for that.

Do you know your foopa is showing?

Foopa: Blubber located at the waist line.


Now, to clarify this a little more, I do want to mention that even women without a lot of blubber can give themselves a foopa-like effect if they wear the wrong size pants! That being said, WHY for the love of GOD do women insist on accentuating and highlighting their foopas? I do not understand this one bit. I am struggling, sometimes winning, and sometimes losing a weight loss battle myself. But what I will give myself credit for, is NEVER wearing pants that create a foopa (aka roll, muffin top, etc.). Then, to make matters worse, some women pair their wrong-size-jeans with a tight, short shirt, which periodically rides up revealing the aforementioned foopa. What look at they going for exactly? I hope this post will serve as a wake-up call for offenders everywhere...this is not cute!!!!

5am is no time for musical instruments

First let me start off by saying that when I went to go meet with the landlord for my lovely apartment, one of his selling points was to mention that the upstairs tenants were classical musicians. This was really irrelevant to me, but I gave him a nice smile and nod of approval.

I think what he really wanted to say was that there were very nice white people living upstairs, and he had a nice quiet building so I shouldn't go messing it up with salsa music and loud talking.

I believe this to be true because he seemed very surprised when he first met me. I think he was fooled by my very white voice (aka proper English). After renting the apartment, I called him one afternoon, and he said, "Wow Vanessa you sound so corporate." Ummm this is the way I speak, but now that you have met me and the voice doesn't match what you thought I would look like, now I sound corporate? Umm ok.

So anyway, I was having a very restless sleep last night. I finally started to fall into a deep sleep around 4am only to be awoken at 5am-ish by the sound of instruments. I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone. Who does that? Who starts practicing musical instruments at 5am? I just lied there for a few minutes staring at the ceiling hoping they would stop, praying they were sleep-playing those instruments, and were going to wake up at any moment and realize the horrible thing they were doing. That never happened. What did happen you ask? I got ghetto. I jumped up from the bed, grabbed a can of hairspray from the dresser and started banging it wildly on the radiator pipe. I was like a mad woman. I threw the can and headed back to bed mumbling under my breath. In case you are wondering, the music stopped. But really...who does that?

So folks, for future reference, white classical musicians do not equal quiet neighbors.