I love my job - I'd hate to be POTUS

Don't get me wrong. Some days are ROUGH at Heifer International's headquarters. I come in behind on deadlines, get a bunch of new work piled on me, am pulled into a million directions that change constantly, and often leave late after accomplishing very little. It can be VERY frustrating.

The mission is SO huge AND noble: ending hunger and poverty and caring for the Earth. After growing up so poor with little access to opportunity for higher education to even inspire the thought that things will get better, I'm just connected to the organization and what we do. I basically shrug off the (majority of the) stress and come in the next day determined, yet again, to make a difference.

I know I'm not a roofer or ditch digger working in 100 degree weather, or a police man, firefighter, or soldier risking my life for others, or a teacher trying to educate your disrespectful children. I'm not crying about how hard my job is.

You should know that I have been the McDonald's drive thru worker, day care worker, and customer service rep in the call center, so I've got some diversity in my work history. You better believe that! I have had folks cuss me out, hang up on me, throw food at me. Hell, the restaurant I worked at was stuck up one time by a guy with a gun!

That ain't shit!

No matter how hard I try, I can't think of a job that's rougher than what Barrack Obama is dealing with in his role as President of the United States. I mean, Wow!

Republicans are determined to block all of his efforts at improving the country. The undercover racist folks are now crawling out of the shadows. Of course, they group together under names like "Tea Party" and such, but sometimes you've got to call a Spade a Spade. {Yeah, I know it kills them to be referenced as a Spade, but it works.} Close-minded people - the true haters - who have determined that God doesn't love gays, or women who use birth control, or people who want equal rights to health care and/or education - don't miss an opportunity to put a finger in his face, question the origins of his birth, or just load money into Super PACs that are focused on defeating him. Shit, they do everything short of calling him the N-word. . at least in public.

I feel for the man. I really do. But today, he received a small win thanks to the Supreme Court (SCOTUS ) upholding his Health Care bill (aka Obamacare).

http://www.cnn.com/2012/06/28/politics/supreme-court-health-ruling/index.html?hpt=hp_t1

Congratulations President Obama. You got my vote in November.

Life is short and then you die. .don't be miserable in the meantime

Sometimes we find ourselves in relationships that we know that we know that we know that we are not supposed to be in. I mean, ALL the signs are there. But you just have a hard time reading them because they are either really sporadic, increase gradually, or there are just SO many that you just can't believe a problem and solution would be so. . well. . OBVIOUS.

Well, sometimes it's easy. And I'm gonna give you the signs that I've learned from my own life.

Here are the warning signs that you should un-choose your mate IMMEDIATELY.

1. You hate the way your partner smells: pre-bath, post-bath, during a bath, or all of the mentioned time slots.
2. When your partner kisses you, you find yourself immediately wiping the kiss off with the back of your hand, brushing your teeth, flossing, soaping your face, then showering.
3. You determine that you hate the way your partner dresses, and resolve to address the issue by avoiding being seen in public with him.
4. It makes you cringe when your partner does any of the following: calls your name, touches you, looks at you, or enters the room.
5. Your partner's sleeping and awake sounds are equally annoying.
6. You feel like answering a phone call or text from your partner should be reserved for emergencies, national holidays, or his birthday.
7. The stuff that you use to think was sweet is now just creepy: all them damn flowers, phone calls, conversations, gifts, pet names.
8. You identify a few distinct patterns that you and your partner use to interact with one another: polite, public, labored, or angry
9. The thought of being left alone with your partner causes you to avoid going home.

Now, if your signs include a black eye, swollen lip, cut tires, or a general fear of violence from this fool, please forget about looking for any additional signs. You were not born into this world to be some crazy person's punching bag. Get a damn clue and RUN!!!!

For those of you that have a strong family unit, you gonna get some push back when you try to un-choose and bail. Don't even take it personal.

Your family wants to see you settle down and live the American dream, and they truly want to believe that your current partner can help you accomplish that. They are gonna tell you "Stick it out." "Hang in there." "It's not THAT bad." "It will get better." "Nothing's perfect."

Yeah ok.

But life is short. . Real short. . And Sometimes being by yourself is the most obvious choice. . At least until God sends you what he wants you to have.

Quick Update from 1/7/13.
. . and then I exited the long, dark tunnel. . and saw that the sun was shining. Life is indeed good again.

Oh *#%@&! You just can't be cussing around here!

I mean, seriously?!

The residents of Middleborough, Massachusetts voted to outlaw cussing?
http://news.blogs.cnn.com/2012/06/12/massachusetts-town-puts-20-fine-on-profanity/?hpt=hp_bn1

Well, daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn! Ooops.

Momma did say if you can't say anyhing nice, don't say anything at all. I guess by outlawing cussing, they also outlawed noise, too.

I think that's some bull *#%@&!

Where NOT to buy bootleg DVD's

. . at the swap meet in the parking lot.

Yeah, that kinda kills the build up huh? Yeah, I know, but keep reading. . you wanna know why not, right?

So, I'm in Maryland at the Swap Meet. . doing it up like a professional: scoping out every store before I make a selection, looking all snobby so the vendor does not think I'm interested, haggling over everything from clothes to shoes to accessories. Yeah, I grew up at the Houston (Texas) swap meet. I know what I'm doing.

I didn't buy a lot. I just couldn't find enough to justify the $27 bag check fee at the airport. (Yes, I was building that into the cost of most of the items I was looking at). So, when I stepped into the parking lot after my little shopping venture was done, I was still up by a few bills.

When I walked outside some lady walks up to me and the group I was with and asked if we wanted to buy some CD's or DVD's. Yeah, I thought I was done, but CD's/DVD's are little. Even if I bought a dozen, I could stuff them in my suitcases, so this would be an at cost purchase.

I was open to the thought. I mean, how bootleg can bootleg CD's/DVD's be, right?

Good question. So, let me answer that for you.

So, the lady who gets our attention, and a little girl who I was not completely sure who she belonged to, walked the group I was with over to a van. The van door opened. And I swear I was wondering how a low-end van had the little push button door slide when it happened. (It didn't). A man with a beard appeared seated in the back of the van, with one of those baseball game peddler pitches. {No, not the pitch that happens on the field. The one the guy with the hot dog cart has when he yells out, "Get your hot, roasted peanuts!"} But this guy was calling out big movie names. "I got your Snow White. Got PLENTY of Prometheus. Get at me for the Men in Black 3. I even got the 3D."

He had eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeverything in a cardboard box between his legs. They all looked like production house quality, with the really good covers that showed the actual movie title and scenes you'd see beside the movie theater marquee.

I was like shit! Forget about spending 50 bucks on a movie night. I'm coming in ahead of my swap meet trip and my next weekend plans. This is wassup.

Right? Mmmmmmmm, right. But stay with me here.

While the Bootleg Movie Vendor is doing his hot dog cart guy voice, the little girl approaches me and hands me a little slip of paper. "That's my Daddy's business card." She had written his name and phone number across little slips of paper she tore up to support her Daddy, the Bootleg Movie Vendor. Yeah, it was cute, touching, ghetto. . all that. I giggled, but this is my people right here. I'm STILL not surprised.

I beat the guy down for the price. . not enough. . and was content with 3 titles I got. I ain't saying which ones in case the feds Google and turn up this post. (IJS).

Anyway, I get home from my DC trip and finally settle down to watch my 3 bootleg DVD's. . and you know. . YOU know. . YOU KNOW!

I'm watching as dude opens his jacket after the opening credits. Middle Eastern subtitles are at the bottom of every screen. Every few minutes, some shadowy figure walks across the movie screen, the recorder's phone rings, or he puts his hand over the camera because the usher (who also walks across the movie screen) appears.

Typical ghetto bootleg craziness.

Yeah, I could've gotten this quality from the barber shop, or the hair store, or at the liquor store in the neighborhood where I could hunt Bootleg Movie Vendor down, tell him how sorry the copy was, negotiate for another movie for free, and act like I'm offended by the quality of a $4 flick.

But I wouldn't have gotten the experience. Shit, I STILL don't really know if the movie was good. But me and Baby Girl got a kick out of watching the production. We got exposed to shit you can't get for $50. . at least not by choice.

Why Punish the Good Kids: The High Price of Education

I'm so pisst off with the way this country is treating good kids.

At the point when the economy is crappy, government programs are scaling back, bullying is at an all-time high, and I'm just gonna say it, society ethics is at an all time low, there are still some really great kids out there that are trying to do the right thing: get a college degree.

You'd think that a black female teenager who received some much better than decent grades, excelled in extracurricular activities, and didn't cause trouble, would be encouraged to be all she could be. But NOPE.

Student loan rates are about to soar, thanks to the insanity of political party warfare that's going on in Congress. This is basically politics at its worse.

Companies that were once offering financial assistance have had to scale back because of this really fucked up economy.

This is the atmosphere around the class of 2012 graduation. My daughter, Erica, is a graduate. And the whole sad state of the world is highlighted for me right now and it makes me SO damn sick!

I'm gonna do what I have to do to give baby girl the opportunities she needs to make it out there. I will NOT let the world. . or the system have my child. She is smart, caring, outgoing, beautiful, and MINE.

I just pray that people wake up. Register to vote. Read. Pay attention to what's going on in politics and government. You don't have to run for an office, but dammit be involved because one day you too are going to need this mess to make sense just like I do. . but who knows.

I've Come to Grips with being Perfectly Imperfect

I'm a grown up now. And I don't measure my growth by my age. Hell, I would've rung the bell 18 years ago if that was the gauge, but nah. . I just reached this plateau. I'm new grown.

I've learned the lesson Momma couldn't teach, and Daddy couldn't force, and Siblings couldn't share: I'm happy just being me: perfectly imperfect.

I'm spiritual, nurturing,impatient, beautiful, smart, bossy, FUNNY, loving, honest, stubborn, transparent, caring, sarcastic, headstrong, tough as nails, forgetful, opinionated, cocky, active, adventurous, curious, extremely picky. . I could go on. But you get where I'm going. I'm a mixed bag.

And I love that about me.

• I love the fact that God sent a wordsmith to Port Arthur, TX, so people could tease me about how proper I spoke; and that I was still arrogant enough to emphasize words all the more just to spite the haters.
• I love the fact that my family was poor, so instead of playing games systems, and watching TV, getting our hair and nails "did," we played together, talked, took care of one another, and bonded.
• I love the fact that I've gone through some shit that would've ran others crazy. . but that I'm still sharp as razor blades (Yeah, that's better than nails). . and smiling.
• I love the fact that I don't look like what I've been through, so my confidence is often mistaken for vanity because a stranger could easily assume that someone somehow made life easier for me instead of the reality that I've fought, worked, and prayed for EVERYTHING I've received.
• I even love the fact that God gave eternal peace and rest to the only two people in my life I knew that I knew that I knew would love me on the days when I just couldn't figure out how to love myself. . and started me on the search for the answer to, "Well, why should anyone love me?"
• I love the fact that I have 3 kids that test me, a family that often times doesn't appreciate me, and a job that makes me want to pull my hair out on some days and work for free on others.

And it's ALL GOOD. My state of mind did not come overnight. . or over a couple of years. . or even a decade. It's taken me a lifetime to get here and to love where I am. But now I've arrived. . well, sorta. . I'm still learning, growing, morphing, but loving the ride all the while. But I'm so happy with me. As I child, I could not have asked God to build me up the way he has with the tools, limitations, hurts, or responsibilities he's given me, but I wouldn't change a thing. I'm perfectly imperfect, and that's exactly where I want to be. Happy Mothers Day to all the Mother's. Love you. And I pray that you too can love your perfectly imperfect self.

When It Stinks So Bad

Everyone who knows me knows that I have a crazy weak stomach. Pretty much every bad smell, taste, or feeling makes me have an upset stomach. It's really awful!

So, when I walked into the ladies room a minute ago, and sniffed a bothersome odor, I just should've took off running. But I had to pee SO bad, I would've had to squirm my way down a flight of stairs and by then I don't know if wetting my pants would've been worse that potential throw up. . Apparently, I decided that the pants wetting thing won because I stayed.

Anyway, as it always happens, as soon as my nose filled with stink, the nausea set in. Before I knew it, it had made its way up my throat and into my MOUTH! Uuuuuugh. . Now, I'm nauseous because of the stink and the nausea. . I covered my nose, mouth, and eyes (don't ask me why about the eyes) so that I did not inhale any more than my body could tolerate and started to wildly reach for the door. .

Made it through the first door, but still couldn't get a breath of fresh air.. Geez! This lady is sick!

Made it through the second door, and quick exhale, and deep inhale, followed by a vomit swallow (yes, disgusting), and I was ready to go back to work.

Again, I should've took off running. But I saw an innocent victim approaching the same bathroom that I just barely made it out of alive.. I had to do something.

I put my hand on the door of the bathroom, and looked her dead in the eye and said, "STOP! Do yourself a favor and go downstairs!" She was so naive, she began to question me. So I said, "I just threw up in my mouth. I wish someone would've told me."

She did an about-face, and then the unexpected happened. The bathroom door opened, and I had to look the rotted guts rodent in the face. She looked displeased, so I said, "Hey, you were in there. You know you stink."

She seemed to understand. She smiled. . and walked her stinky butt away. .