Personal/Sidenote News (Page 2)

I have a confession to make. I. Am. Paranoid.

My paranoia is the byproduct of my impeccable intuition. I am rarely proven wrong about folk, therefore, I find solace in making assertions because my predictions seldom resurface to bite me in the D-cup. However, it remains probable that my predictions materialize into self-fulfilling prophecies. This worries me.

I can pick up on fakeness like a CSI forensic specialist can find blood at a fatal crime scene. I consider my intuition to be a gift, but I'm not tryna fool myself - it does not come void of substantial error. For example, when I am interested in someone, I only see and choose to believe what best suits my fantasies.

Once someone is on my Shit List, it is on such list that he or she will eternally remain. I am not proud of this, but I think I've improved at putting some Shit Listers up for promotion.

It takes a lot to upset me, and once you do me wrong the only way to remove yourself from my shit list is to rescue me from a burning building, pay off my credit card bills, fill up my gas tank and fly me to Chicago for a taping of The Jerry Springer Show.

Right now I'm grappling with the idea of overlooking my intuition and waiting to discover what transpires with folks whom I think are suspect. It's difficult, and I feel that my insights appear for the right reasons, as they should. Maybe I'm just being paranoid about being paranoid?

Those three special words can evoke such a potpourri of emotions and reactions... you know the ones - Free Food & Drinks! Hey, that was three words and a symbol, okay. But, nope, I'm not talking about those words. I'm talking about the "I love you" business that many wait on pins and needles for, cream themselves over, argue about, or only proclaim when they want something.

On any given day you can hear half of any couple ending a phone call with their partner or side dish with a monotone delivery of "I love you." It becomes standard. It gets to the point where you could almost find yourself in the midst of similar exchanges:

'How was your day?'

I love you.

'What do you want for dinner?'

I love you.

'I'm leaving you for someone else.'

I really love you.

"I love you" becomes a phrase said simply because it's routine. This profession is a novelty in every fairly new or passionate relationship, the typical way of preceding a "bye." But I just don't like to say it because it's my duty.

I've had a very special person in my life for years. 'Sometimes, not always' is how often he says "I love you, Firecracker!" Ha. It is such a rarity. But when he does say something sweet, he pours it on thick and the sincerity in his declaration is valued because it carries symptoms of endangerment. I've heard those three words on a very frequent basis in the past, but I prefer to be slapped upside the head with it infrequently and unexpectedly. It just feels better that way.

This week has been nothing but drama and I feel like I haven't been on my A-Game because of it. Anyway, I've been so irritated this week that I haven't even posted a few 'Personal/Sidenote' stories that I've written because I didn't like them and couldn't figure out a way to re-word them so that I would.

Moving is drama, and today I have to go to court early in the a.m. Today's posts may not be the timeliest, but I will try my best and get to whatever I'm unable to on Monday. You know those weeks where it's just like the weekend couldn't arrive soon enough? This has definitely been one of those. But if you know anything about POTP, you know that I have my good days and my bad days, so I thank you from the depths of my hollow heart for your continued support.

Blowing you some air blown kisses.

Last night I got off the phone with my friend who's a record industry executive and she told me some things about Rihanna that sheds new light.

Rihanna is a raging bitch and my friend's friends have witnessed Rihanna slapping the shit out of Chris Brown at various parties on several occasions! While at the crowded social functions that Rihanna wouldn't just start beating on Chris, the two would be seen arguing over something, Rihanna would shove him or hit him and they would storm out together on a regular basis! They are a volatile couple and Rihanna and Chris equally love their dysfunction.

I remember that my record industry friend told me RiRi and Chris would get back together BEFORE they actually did. She says some men love women who fight and some women love it too. She reminded me that they're probably having incredible makeup sex right now and she thinks that they'll even get married.

She says that Rihanna needs a mature, older man, not 19-year-old Chris, but that she acts like an idiot and no older man would wanna put up with her immature ass. She says that Rihanna grew up around men, fighting with her male relatives. She's probably a fairly decent fighter and doesn't consider fighting with a man as out of the ordinary as we do.

Here I was thinking of Rihanna as such a pushover behind closed doors. Not true! Rihanna allegedly beats on Chris Brown all the time. In summary - they're poison for each other.

Just to reiterate, I am not on Chris' side. Domestic violence is cowardly, reprehensible, unforgivable and often untreatable behavior. BUT, Chris' relatives and various people have said that Rihanna had to do something to set Chris off because he's not an angry, violent person. My friend says Rihanna was probably arguing with him, slapping him and being a bitch, then thought it was cute to throw his keys out the window and that's how their fight began. There are definitely two sides to a story and Rihanna and Chris both need to properly treat their dysfunction, not together, but away from each other.

You excitedly head out to do some shopping and you've found all the shiz that you wanted and then some. You gather the things you want while you feel a tangible wave of contentment set in. Shopping done. One less thing to worry about, crossed off the To Do list. But, before you're able to exit the retail establishment of your choice, something gets in the way - you must pay for these items. Dammit. You proceed to the cash register, which is more like a debit card register these days, but I digress.

You make friendly with the sales rep. But not too friendly. You don't want to be shamed by your friend. You keep it simple and make brief, abrupt eye contact as you stand in silence. With each bar code scan you hear the familiar beep and your heart drops just a little bit more. You're watching your "Total Due" amount increase by the item. You're kind of panicking and you're wondering if it shows. You grin nervously. Are you obvious? Do you reek of suspicion? You glance at the new customer that joins the end of your checkout line. He needs to effing go somewhere else! In fact, everyone behind you could just leave now. No one should bare witness to what may happen.

You pray that it will all be alright. Your Amount Due is now complete. You hear, "That'll be...."

No words.
No eye contact.
You swipe your debit card.
You're frozen.
You hope.
It's pending
and pending
still pending
and pending...
It's taking too long!
That's because it's declined.
It's gonna be declined!
Pending...
This effing sucks.
You wanna hide.
The little screen reads APPROVED.

By God's graces you didn't urinate all over the floor, turn red or have to protest that you know someone must have made "a mistake!" because there's a lot of money in your account.

You give a quick "thank you," grab your receipt in silence and take your bags. You know your payment is going to bounce, but at least that will be between you and your bank account, not the people waiting in line, ready to sigh and eye-roll while the cashier gives you stink eye even though you make more money than her.

It's nerve-racking and you vow to never again use your debit card when you don't know if funds are available. But you know that you're gonna.

My favorite blogger in the whole wide world freakin' universe planet, Snarky, is pregnant, bitches!

Snarky blogged for POTP for over a year. Snarky (aka Megan) only has three more months to go and she's been filling me in on her pregnancy journey. She is having a little girl. I am the honorary godmother. You read it here first, she doesn't even know that. I'm also the honorary aunt lady person.

I love Megan so so much and I am so excited for this little girl. She has some awesome parents. Doesn't Megan look like the gorgeous, glowing mommy to be in that top pic?

Congrats!!!! I can't wait until she's here. <3

While I was bored and rained-in due to the weather - yes, those are the only reasons why I decided to do this - I proceeded to cyber stalk my most recent "love of my life."

Now the whole "love of my life" phrase is one that I only began using last month. I enjoy it much, actually, because I think the denotations are accurate: This love was gravitational; it's like there was a magnet inside my vadge and one in his peanus. It was like some straight biological shit. Nature. And we were supposed to be together. Being in his presence felt like an orgasm of sexual chemistry, compatibility, fate and destiny exploded deep within my yearning heart. Move over Shakespeare!

I proceeded to stalk my ex online, but I ran into a few major problems. His name is EXTREMELY common. Ugh.

1) Hundreds of "him" appear in any inquiry.

2) The dudes who really look like him only really look like him cause the pics are way too small for me to know whether they're him or not.

3) If I do find him, that would ignite an entirely different dilemma. What am I supposed to do? Would I be tempted to send him a friend request or message when things ended horribly?

I need to know what he's up to. I need to know that he's married and has a baby girl who looks like a tranny and that his wife gained 400 pounds during her pregnancy and they no longer have sex and he's miserable. These are the things that I'd love to know, Facebook. If only his name weren't so freakin' common, and if only Facebook's privacy settings weren't so strict.

If you're going to whisper in front of someone, you might as well just spread your butt cheeks and fart in their face. You'd make a much better impression that way.

You know that you are being talked about and it's only natural to become offended over this non-discreet, cowardly F-U. If you weren't being discussed, than why the hell would someone feel the need to whisper to someone else in your presence?!

You can just tell when folks are whispering about something random or other people, or when you're the topic of their hush hush. Then the person who receives the whisper doesn't make any eye contact with you during or shortly after the whisper because he or she doesn't wanna be obvious. While they aim to be discreet, they may as well both just point their finger in your face and shove 'em up your nostrils because you know these bitches was talkin' mad shit!

What to do when someone whispers in front of you?

Poke the person whispering and ask 'em WTF they're saying? Lean in so you can hear? Storm out? Tell 'em you don't like it? Any method of action you take has no effect on what has and will take place when The Whisperer and The Whisperee are together; in fact, any obvious reaction just gives them new material.

I was the witness and subject of a Whisperer and Whisperee exchange a few days ago. But I let it go quickly because what was I to do? I already knew that The Whisperer was a lil upset with me and her little one-way conversation with The Whisperee only confirmed it. I made sure to be on my best behavior and I also gave The Etiquette Violators and their friends much to laugh about at the dinner table. After I was victimized by their quiet verbal assault, I vowed to myself never to whisper in front of others again because I believe in talking shit behind people's backs rather than farting in faces.

I've been meaning to say that, in case you haven't noticed, I don't do a post to announce my contest winner(s). Hope you don't mind. Winners are always notified via email shortly after each contest ends. Maybe I will change this, but when you have to sift through over 100 emails/day to POTP and personal email accounts, saving time online is your goal.

2) Google Searches will now be posted on some days and not on others (if at all). The tribe has spoken and it seems that there's a consensus that Google Searches can go and no tears will be lost. I've always feared that they would get old, and if I post 'em on a daily basis, without a doubt, they will. So they'll be posted less...

3) Personal/sidenote entries won't be posted every day that I post. I refuse to post a personal/sidenote entry on a daily basis and write something just to post it, even if I don't feel like I have something to say. So I won't. Sometimes I'll post 'em, and other days I won't.

Thank you to those of you who have let me know your thoughts on Google Searches and Personal/Sidenote entries via my Motown 10-Disc cd contest! :)

One word I don't use often is "mortified," but that's exactly what I was last Saturday night. I wanted to see The Reader forever and I figured that Saturday night I would do just that. So I threw on some clothes, literally, and headed out the door for the theatre to meet up with friends. I wanted to exercise. I don't live far from the theatre, 20 mins away to be exact. But I also don't live far from my former university, either, 4 mins away to be exact.

So I go to the theater looking like shit, well, at least by my standards. I don't really wear makeup much anymore because this is my face, deal with it. I also don't dress like I'm hitting the runway in order to do the simplest of tasks. Living in soCal, this makes me a rebel. So anyway, I go to the theater, I'm running a little late so I had to do a lil hustling, which didn't exactly help me to look any hotter. I arrive. I'm in line with friends when I suddenly hear a very familiar voice behind me. It's my former teacher talking to some chick he's going on a date with at the movies. I'm completely mortified.

To understand why this was so irksome you must know the context. I had a crush on said teacher, which really isn't saying much, I have a crush on everyone. But he also threatened to expel me from school. Now I won't say why, I'll leave it open-ended because it sounds all scandalous and the possibilities are endless. It was a stressful time to say the least. I remember telling some friends, "All of this can be resolved with a blowjob!" How right I was! It was resolved! :) But, no, a BJ was not my saving grace. As I said, I'm not disclosing the details of what went down.

So, as you can imagine, he is one of the last people that I would like to run into while rockin' my getup which was nothing less than Absolute Trash Chic. I hear his very familiar voice, I've taken semester after semester with him, enrolling in his various classes. I slowly turn around, very slowly. It's him. Shit!

He's standing right behind me. I'm not so sure if he saw me when I turned around though. Being the rocket scientist genius person that I am, I move my friends and I over to the only other line, one on his left. I don't tell them what's going on. They don't need to know right now. "I'll tell you later." I knew they'd stare at him and be way obvious. I then try to hide. Like I said, I'm a genius. So I put my hoodie on in the warm soCal "winter" weather. I didn't put the hood on, though, but I toss my hair to the side, put my hoodie on over my clothes and purse and zip it up, hence making it impossible for me to retrieve my effing money, but I was desperately trying to hide. I begin sending text messages to myself while I feel his eyes on me the entire time. He's only standing in the line about 2 feet away from me, gazing at me and my Absolute Trash Chic texting ass. I look at him and he looks away before he starts staring at me again. So embarrassed.

Me and him made nice after his threats to get me removed from the campus weren't put into action. I respect him greatly and I'd love to run into him, but not while he's on a date with some broad! It was really a disgusting course of events and I dunno why the college kids and teachers all have to hang out in the same spots. Aaaahhhh.