Fragile - Handle With Care

At my age, everyone (including yourself) is damaged to some degree. Its inevitable. It's life. But there are some people who are SO damaged that it hinders their ability to form and maintain genuine connections. Not only is this emotional disability crippling to those who are damaged, but it is crippling to those who care about them and hope for progression. Those of us who take the time to try to show them that not everyone is the same. Some of us have more patience and hope than others so we stick around for what feels like forever. Sad thing is, forever and a day still isn't enough time nor is it good enough for someone who is unable to recognize just what your intention is. Their vision isn't clear so they are unable to tell the difference between you (their ally) and their enemy. Everyone and everything is the same. Whether you have been there for 10 minutes or 10 years it makes no difference. Its a double edged sword because the frustration of the situation and your love for them both makes you want to help the situation but it also infuriates you.
 I've come to the personal conclusion that it's ok to care about someone who is damaged. You just have to do so from a distance so that you do not end up damaging yourself in the process. 

Soul Snatchers

There are too many of us who give all of themselves to those who are incapable of giving back what they are receiving. Stop willingly giving up your soul in order to post #AlwaysUsNeverThem pics on Instagram. 

It's a double edged sword because you enter a situation with your wall up and you cripple and stunt the potential of growth within the connection. You go into something optimistically and open and you have now thrown yourself into the lions den. You have instinct and you know when something is  not right  for you but you hope for the best. Stop  moving  purely off of  emotion and  force yourself to be logical.  There has to be balance. It is necessary for survival. 

You can not dictate how someone loves you. You can not condemn someone for not loving you the way you want or need. It is unfair and illogical to do so. It is logical though to save yourself when you realize that an unhealthy emotional situation is killing you. Sometimes people love you with all they have but that does not take away from the fact that they are soul snatchers. Life drainers. If you truly want the right love connection you have to love yourself first. That means knowing when to remove yourself from situations that aren't meant for you. Stop wasting your time. No amount of ass shots, breast implants  and 28"  virgin  Brazilian  body wave will buy you the wasted time back.  I promise that once you stop participating in your own slow death, you will start living the life you were intended to have. I'm no expert but this is sound advice that everyone can use. Myself included. 

Xoxo,

Sweet Toti

Captain Save a Chick

"Funny you're the broken one but I'm the only one who needed saving..." 
-  'Stay' 
Rihanna feat. Mikky Ekko

I've always chosen the wrong people to get involved with. They were always the types that I thought would "save" me. It's because my father has been my savior my entire life. I know nothing different. I was brought up with the mentality that a woman should be strong but the man that you're with should be the epitome of strength. Maybe that mentality should no longer apply. Nowadays women are being forced to be stronger than men. I've finally realized that I've been trying to get saved by people that are themselves broken. 
I've wasted time wondering why so many bum bitches, birds and hoes are finding love and living the life that I think I deserve. I've wasted years wondering why so many so called "good men" will overlook good women in their paths only to do the most to impress women that are unworthy and undeserving. They will get clothes, shoes, cars, and jewelry all to attract and gain the attention of the very types they claim they don't respect. After removing emotion from the situation and applying logic it's obvious that I've been fucking up. It's not my place to be concerned with what another female is doing. It's not my place to worry about what a man that I'm not involved with is doing. It's not my place to judge people and put the title "bum bitch", "bird", or "hoe" on anyone. I'm not God therefore it's not my place to say what a person does or doesn't deserve. 
It is my place to ensure that I fix myself. It is my place to ensure that I continue to carry out my dreams and build my empire even if that means building it alone. It is my place to ensure that I grow to a point that I exemplify the characteristics of the person I eventually want to connect with. It is my place to ensure that my son is always proud of me. It is my place to ensure I save myself. 

Truth Hurts

If your "friends" just consist of people that you know from work or of people that you know through your significant other, your character is flawed. If you have no childhood friends, your character is flawed. The problem can't be everyone else. The problem is you. 
The truth hurts. 
If you don't have the ability to start and maintain real and genuine relationships, chances are you're a self centered pig. You're probably negative and bitter. You're probably incapable of happiness and therefore cannot honestly reflect it to anyone else. 
Chances are you have issues from your past. Most likely your parents. Our first relationships are those formed with our parents. If you have a broken or fucked up bond with the adults that you grew up with you will have broken and fucked up bonds in all other relationships. If you are clueless, you will continue to go through life with blinders on. You will never be fixed. Forever broken.
People with a good core have the ability to look past the damage of others. We are capable of being hopeful for you. We hope that you are one day able to realize that despite your mask, you are a pretentious monster. We are hopeful that one day you will be smart and brave enough to realize that you are poisonous to everyone around you as well as yourself. We are loyal and loving. We help you when no one else is around to help you. We hope that you will learn from our example. Because you have forged fake relationships in every sense of the word, you will never learn. 
Those of us with light in our auras are smart enough to be happy once we've removed you from our lives. You are poison. You may accomplish certain things in life but that will not change the fact that you are garbage. With enough toilet water, even a turd can float. Even if you end up married with children, you will always be alone. 
Truth hurts. 

I Think I F*cked Up....

I think I fucked up. I quit a corporate job at Ralph Lauren I hated, gave up an apartment I loved because my lease was up, sold my car and put all of my shit in storage in order to make my big move to Florida. That was in September. Florida didn't work out quite the way I had imagined. My swimsuit website (www.SweetToti.bigcartel.com) is doing alright but I'm not the multi thousandaire (is that a word ?) that I had planned on being. I was supposed to be 20 lbs lighter, 2 shades darker and sipping frozen tangerine margaritas on South Beach while I filled swimsuit orders and iMessaged my boyfriend from my iPad. 

I really think I fucked up. 

In reality I'm depleting my savings and searching for a new overpriced apt in cold ass Brooklyn. Its 31 degrees as I write this. The only tan I have is from my MAC NC50 Studio powder foundation.  I have to re enter the work force and go thru interviews to work with pretentious bitches and spend $60 a week on french vanilla coffee in the morning and expensive salads for lunch. I will probably have to remain in the fashion industry because the ends of my hair are Superman blue and I have 15 tattoos.  I refuse to kill my soul with long sleeved blouses, wide legged business pants and uni color hair. Fuck that. 

I suppose that I should hold off on buying a car right now. I could use that money to get new boobs and a new ass. I could be an exotic dancer for 2 months and save every penny. Then I can move to Florida and dance at King of Diamonds in Miami. My stage name would be 'Brooklyn' or 'New Yawk' to represent my home town. I'd always wear a Brooklyn Nets fitted and a bikini from my swimsuit line while I performed. Cheapest and most clever way to advertise. After 3 years of dancing, I should be able to retire and concentrate on my business.

That sounds about right. 

Maybe I didn't fuck up as badly as I thought. 

Maybe looking like a black version of Kim Kardashian is my destiny. They say sometimes your plans don't work out because God has better ones. Maybe this was my path all along. Don't judge me. 

Independent Woman?

I don't like being an independent woman. This shit is for the birds. 
I'll sing the shit out of the Destiny's Child song when it pops up on Pandora but I damn sure ain't about that life because I don't want to be. When I complain about the single life don't insult me by calling me a "strong, (Black) woman" either. This is just a bullshit phrase to pacify the fact that so many of us smart, level headed, good women are not in healthy, committed relationships. 

People are not meant to be alone. Male or female. "A life without love, is no life at all".
I often compare myself now to my mother when she was my age. By 31 her and my father had already been married for 4 years. I'm already 4 years behind. I know it's illogical to think that way. God's plan for her and for me are clearly different but it would have been nice to have a somewhat similar blueprint. For the most part, my parents have roots and family on the same island but never met until they both came to America. My mother left her country and moved to Canada when she turned 21. My father had come to America a few years earlier. He was a police officer that got set up on a blind date with my mother. The rest is history.
It would be nice to have someone that I could surrender my power to at times when I need to recharge. It's draining to be mentally,  physically and emotionally durable 24 - 7. It would be nice to have a role other than every role as the head of my household. It would be nice to have 2 incomes. It would be nice to have someone else be the protector in my home. Instead the burden is that of my 9mm and my 12 year old son. It's unfair that I've placed my son in a situation that my sisters and I never knew of. We had and still have both parents. Daddy bought the food and Mommy cooked it. If Mommy said "yes" but Daddy said "no" that meant the answer was "no". Daddy taught us how to defend ourselves and Mommy taught us how to nurture. They both taught us how to love and respect ourselves and others. 
We independent women are a new breed. We have not made the right choices. We are independent because we have to be. We can change that once we accept the fact that women should have leadership, protection and companionship from the right man.
I am level headed and despite my past am not jaded to the fact that I am closed off to accepting the right man into my life. I do, however move with emotional intelligence. I strive for my heart and mind to be balanced which I'm sure is the reason as to why I have not yet been connected to the right person.*sings* I don't deserve thissssss liiiife - I'd make the perfecttttt wiiiife...
I do not need to be saved like some of these hoes out here nor do I need to be totally dependent on a man. I want to be blessed with a healthy union which in my eyes is one of mutual dependence and respect. I have yet to meet a man that is worthy of the role. I have not made the right choices. I can not beat myself up over it but I can take responsibility for it. I can ensure that I no longer give weak ass niggas that are not ready for a leadership role into my space, heart or vagina. 

The Tale of The Lost Crown

We've lost our way as Black women. We no longer demand the respect that we deserve. We no longer carry ourselves in the manner that we should as the Earth. We are happy with minimal acts of interest from men. We are happy with a text. A phone call is no longer necessary. We are settling so that we don't have to be alone. We are pretending that having a baby daddy that lives under the same roof as us is just as good as having a husband and life partner. A man entering you without a condom and impregnating you is not the same as a man committing to you for life and acknowledging that he has found his rib. He has found you. Male animals impregnate female animals. It's a physical act. Cut the shit.
We worship men that can barely put a sentence together because his song is on 'The Sucker Free Countdown'. We have no respect for happy, solid relationships. We have no problem infiltrating genuine unions. If she was "doing what she was supposed to do" we wouldn't have had a chance to get with him. We have no regard for another sister. It's a dog eat dog world so it's every bitch for themselves. We have downgraded to the mentality of a whore. A long way from the queens that we were destined to be. We've lost our way as Black women. 
We hate on other women doing better than us instead of being happy that another queen is establishing her position. We aren't happy with ourselves. Self hatred that no amount of ass injections or baby pink M.A.C lipstick will solve. 
We are left with the responsibility of taking care of our children and have allowed resentment to set in. We leave our babies home with our mothers and grandmothers while we stand in lines for hours to get into the club free. Wearing shoes that hardly fit and that we can hardly afford. All to impress a Ciroc guzzling ape that spent his child support money on VIP bottles. A far cry from the queens we were destined to be. 
We've lost our way as Black women. Instead of bustin it open to Wacka Flocka tracks we might have to resort to bustin open a book.  
We are the carriers of life. We need to earn our crowns back.

I Can't Beweave It!!!

A trip to Lugo's to get my 18/20 inch brown base perm straight weave (approx 9 oz to be exact) is as important to my beauty regimen as is getting my toti waxed. I bet the ones most bothered by that statement are my "sistas". Other (Black) women. Pssssst Black women just in case you still haven't noticed WE are our own worst enemies. No one on Earth criticizes a woman worse than another woman. Well maybe with the exception of catty men that want to be women but that's another topic altogether. 
I have come across many smart, beautiful Black women that can agree on a million things but the one thing that will always cause friction is the matter of hair. The ones that are "real" versus those that choose to wear weaves, clip on extensions, etc. Please note that my "etc." excludes those that wear common Flatbush Ave lace fronts. Those women are a different life form altogether. I have yet to come across a woman that doesn't instantly feel that she's some how "better" or more "authentic" and "real" than a weave wearer just because she has dreads, no perm or is rocking braids.
I have shocking news for you pretentious bitches. That hair color in your dreadlocks wasn't G*d given. That bouncy roller set that you're rocking is not your natural hair texture. Some Dominican at Marisol's smothered 10 en 1 on your head and then put you under the dryer for an hour after slapping those red, purple and grey rollers in your head. Cut the shit. If you get your eyebrows arched, your nails done, and you shave you're not as natural and real as you think you are. Some of you love to promote that you're #TeamNoMakeup while rocking lip gloss. Oh.  
As women we do certain things to enhance our beauty. Whatever we do reflects what our personal idea of beauty is. No one has a right to judge on whether or not one's idea of beauty is right or wrong. You might not wear weave but I'm sure you're one of the first to throw on a push up bra when you pull out that little black Bebe dress for a night out. As women we have enough issues and adversities to face and we need not add pitting ourselves against another sista to the list. 
Men that claim that they only like "real" women and look down on women that wear weaves are a joke to me. These are the same men that pull out the baby oil while looking through issues of King magazine and episodes of "Keeping Up With The Kardashians". It is my personal opinion and belief that if your penis is less than 7" or you make less than 75 thousand dollars a year you have no right to voice your opinion about women that rock weaves because apparently you could use some help in the length department as well. Your pockets are short and so is your pipe. 
As a grown woman that handles my business in all areas across the board never will I find the need to justify why I choose to be the black Rapunzel whenever I feel like it to anyone male or female. You can look down on me for wearing weave if you want. Whether one is a "real" woman or not should be based upon how she carries herself , takes cares of her loved ones and how she interacts with those in her cipher. Trust and believe that my ovaries and vagina are real. Who cares if all of my hair isn't? Chile please. *flips fabulous weave over shoulder*

Bienvenido A Miami!!!!!

  
I'm trading in the coyote fur lined Coach coat and Stuart Weitzman winter boots for the All Saints Sparkle Mirelle bikini and Tabitha Simmons sandals. (Yes hoodrats there is more to life than Gucci and Christian Louboutin). The REAL bagels and REAL pizza slices for Cobb salads and Cubano sandwiches (minus the pickle please).  I'm moving to Miami. In approximately 161 days my zip code will go from 11234 to 33119. From the county of Kings to Dade County. 
I can put my french manicured finger on the exact day that I got the Florida fever. It was that day back in '98 when I received my acceptance letter from the University of South Florida. I just KNEW I was gonna be in Florida from that day on and become America's #1 Marine Biologist even though I didn't even know how to swim. Until the day after when the "stomach virus" that I thought I had for a week turned out to be the confirmed sign of the fact that I was 6 weeks pregnant. Oh. OK. I can still go to Florida and go to school and get a job and take care of my baby and maintain at least a 3.5 GPA all on my own. Girl please !!! Reality set in and I knew that I had to be smart. My head and heart told me that I needed to have my child and stay in NY for the time being where both my baby and I would be comforted and supported by the never ending love that my family would give us. Instead I went to John Jay and studied forensic psychology. I worked part time all throughout college. Never once did my parents ask me for rent money. Never once did my sisters ask me to pay them for watching my Noodle while I worked or went to school. Despite our great lives here in NY there was always a part of me curious about Florida. 
My fam and I spent summers in Orlando. I loved everything about Florida. Except the bugs. And lizards. Last summer my biz partner, some friends and I went down to Miami (my 2nd time being there) and we had one of the best times of our lives. I know that every night for me in Miami won't consist of a meal on Ocean and what feels like a scene from a music video at King of Diamonds but I do know that it's part of my calling to be there. I'm a little nervous. But I've never been one to bitch out of anything just because I get a little nervous. Noodle said to me the other day, " I'm not worried about moving because wherever we are people think we're awesome." Noodle and I have no family in Miami. We have no friends down there either. What we do have is each other and our NY swag. G*d willing everything I set out to do in Miami will come to fruition. I plan on launching my underwear line out there as well as starting up my bikini line with my family. After that, I will meet a hot Cuban man with tatts and dimples and we'll get married and have a daughter named Azul Hibiscus (in honor of the Hispanic roots and my 4th cousin 3 times removed Beyonce). If for some G*d foresaken reason things don't go as planned I will stalk Rick Ross and DJ Khaled until they hire me to be their permanent video chick. 
I hope Dade County is ready because my demeanor, accent and attitude is about to let em know real quick. I am born and bred in NY and I am both book and street smart. I am a force to be reckoned with and will survive in whatever environment I'm placed in. No matter where I end up, *insert Jay Z voice* I'm Brooklyn till I die. In this case, I'll just be rockin my NY Yankees fitted on the beach. Who's mad?

The Demise of The Black King

de·mise

   [dih-mahyz]  Show IPA noun, verb, -mised,-mis·ing.

noun

1.

death or decease.

2.

termination of existence or operation: the demise of the empire

Some of you black "men" kill me. Calling yourselves kings when some of you are nothing but court jesters. Some of you are kings in training. A prince maybe. Not yet a king. 

So quick to be judgmental and call women bitches, sluts, hoes, etc. but ya'll remain the main reason why black homes are broken.

Coming off like an emotional bitch. Even more so than a female.  A black man is supposed to carry themselves like a king - not a princess. That's the role of your daughter until she herself becomes a queen. But some of you have walked out on your princess as well as the queen that carried her so you know nothing of which I speak. And if you have children with more than 1 woman and aren't married to any of them the women you lay with aren't the only irresponsible whores in the equation. You are too. The demise of the black king. 

And ya'll are bitches b/c your father wasn't around or if he was he was good for nothing. So now you are him and the cycle continues. 

You thirst to get a record deal but don't have the same thirst to be (on the path to being) the solid leader of your black family. Running to a studio but won't step foot into a library. 

Standing in line for hours for a new pair of sneakers but too proud to stand in line for a job application,  job interview or financial aid. The very epitome of a cooned out ape ass nigger. The demise of the black king. 

You won't exercise your paternal / parental rights and take a female to court to ensure that you see your child. Instead you'll complain about the "bitch" and allow your child to grow up with another man or sometimes even a woman as their other father figure. You'll impregnate another female without making things right with your first born. The demise of the black king. 

You glorify what you are not. You want to be a 'Godfather' character. 'Scarface' is one of your favorite movies. LOL Comical and sad. The demise of the black king. 

You allow your fears to prevent you from building a solid, genuine bond with a queen. It's easier to walk away from things that exude a challenge. Because you're a scary ass bitch. Kings don't run away from conflict. They face and conquer them. Letting excessive pride get in the way and being stubborn is not the characteristic of a real leader. Whipping out your dick every moment to show people how big it is is not the characteristic of a leader. If your dick is that big its already visible to those of us that are paying attention. Real leaders allow a trusted few to see their weaknesses. Real leaders know when to work on their areas of weakness. Real leaders don't allow outside forces like bitter concubines or fair weather friends to infiltrate their unions with a real queen. Real kings don't allow their link between them and those that will help them face the world to be broken. The demise of the black king.

It's disappointing. Because even though a good number of you are decent, there is often still a minor residue of bitchassness left behind by your actions or in some cases inaction(s). 

Grown man body, adolescent mentality. The demise of the black king. 

Big dicks, big wallets, big egos. Still not a king. 

If you're a Black man of a certain age and you're cool with being a prince I will not judge you, brotha. But know this - a prince is pushed out of a queen's vagina. A king is invited into one. 

But that's just my opinion. 

The One That Got Away??

"The One That Got Away". Tuh. That's the nice way of saying that we settled for who we are with now. Now I realize that it's hard for some of us to face the reality that there was a point in time when the one we wanted didn't want us. If you were even close enough to be "the one that got away" they would have never let you go. Vice versa.  That's some reality for that ass. 
Once upon a time while leaving her AP English class, a 14 year old girl spotted the most adorable guy that she had ever seen in her life to date. Her heart jumped from her chest right up into her throat for approximately 7 seconds. He didn't even glance towards her direction. They had mutual friends and she often saw him but they never once uttered more than 5 words to each other. He certainly wasn't the most perfect guy in high school but for some reason every time she saw him she got slightly nauseous. In a good way.
Mr. Adorable transferred out of their school by their junior year. He ended up at the same school that her cousins and one of her sisters went to. She mentioned it to her cousins when she heard about Mr. Adorable's transfer through the grapevine. Her cousins rightfully didn't give a fuck. She and the tall class clown that could handle a basketball became boyfriend and girlfriend. They graduated. She got pregnant by Tall Class Clown. They broke up before the baby was born. Life went on.
One night years later she went to a party that her best friend at the time was having. Mr. Best Friend was standing outside talking to a circle of people. In that circle, was Mr. Adorable. She was too drunk at the time from bar hopping earlier to be excited. But she saw him and noticed him. He saw her and noticed her. Mr. Best Friend hooked it up. She and Mr.Adorable started dating. They were smitten. They became a couple. They were on their best behavior. They wrote each other love letters. He brought her homemade soup when she got sick. They met each other's families. Then shit got "real" or at least as real as it can get for 22 year olds. They broke up. Then they got back together. He showed her things she had never known. He saw her for the woman she could be. She showed him how free it was to let your guard down sometimes and allow yourself to love someone with the wall down. At least she would like to think that's what she showed him. Their arguments were unnecessary and passionate. Their make ups were genuine and passionate. But then they broke up again. They dated other people. They kept in contact and popped back into each other's lives just when the other one seemed to be having a connection with someone else. The Black Carrie and Big. Life went on. 
They got back together after they grew up. There were tears (both good and bad) and stomach butterflies (both good and bad) and businesses started together and the bond got stronger. Despite the feelings and the stomach butterflies and the businesses and the bond they broke up. Their love was complicated, deep and real. They are both good people so I am sure that they will find something just like it if they haven't already. Minus the complication. 
Never will He or She refer to the other as "the one that got away". If that were the case, they wouldn't have let each other get away. They realized that insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results. Despite their undeniable connection, neither one of them is crazy. They broke up. And life goes on. 
  

Blind Leading the Blind

"Yes, girl, I can't believe he did that - You DEF don't need to be dealing with him - You deserve better you don't need a man - You're a strong, independent woman", etc. All coming from the type of woman that is in a (fucked up) relationship/lives with her man/married. When I get "advice" from women I not only take it with a grain of salt, I also add 3 tablespoons of Lawry's on top of that. These are women that give advice that they themselves have never taken. On the surface, the intent of such advice is usually positive. The underlying intent not so much. This is the main reason why outside of my family my best friends are men. 

Misery loves company and many women don't want another woman happy if they aren't. Reason being, most women are unhappy with themselves. Obviously this is due to the constant comparison of oneself to another. Even the baddest women on Earth have insecurities. This is why we have there are so many enhancers. Makeup, weaves, surgeries, etc. Of course, men have insecurities too. The difference is that as long as they have money and/or power their out of shape bodies/small dicks/ balding heads/ugly faces are no longer a factor. The Dream looks like Shirley from ' What's Happenin' but he was able to bag Christina Milian. If he was an average dude from Flatbush Ave. trust and believe that he would not have been able to do that. Men figured out a long time ago that it is never necessary to chase women. If you chase money, the women will follow. Women's insecurities lead to cattiness in all shapes and forms. Men's insecurities lead them to an intense paper chase. 

No matter how strong of a woman you are or how strong of a woman you pretend to be men do and will always have the upper hand. Women outnumber men. They have a choice. As women, we always have a choice as well. No one should ever settle for the sake of not being alone but it's just as Kanye said. "All that independent shit - trade it all for a husband and some kids". Men determine whether or not a seed will be planted therefore whether or not your legacy will be carried on. That's some heavy deep shit. You have to be impregnated in order to reproduce. Real talk, the ball is in their court. Yes as women we are the vessel and epitome of life and strength but again the man physically holds the power as to WHEN that will happen. We are programmed to want to find our match an reproduce with them. This is the basic science. We need to be married and have kids by a certain age. Not only is it a mental nuisance but it is a medical fact that you are considered "high risk" if you get pregnant after the age of 35. Men can produce sperm for years after that hence the constant competition that women are in from the time they realize and learn that their pussy getting wet actually has a purpose. 

So now no matter what issue arises between me and my hunny whether it be miniscule or major, there will always be those "friends" whose first reaction will always be, "Yes leave him alone girl!!!". meanwhile if you look at her situation she's either unhappily attached, settled for loving the one that loves her, or is single. These are the types that have never been alphas. Their one chance to feel like a leader is if they beat you to the alter. They need to make sure that no one else's happiness surpasses theirs. I might have to go all out and say that this hate usually comes from Black and Hispanic women. Most of my White friends are married with kids. The plethora of reasons are too many to list here. I'll tell you one thing though. Beck and Sarah do NOT sit on the phone for an hour and a half talking about how trifling Brad is. They keep their intimate issues INTIMATE. They don't dick bash because for the most part they aren't struggling, single mothers like so many of us Black and Hispanic women are. That's a topic for a different time. 

The strongest, most long standing couples have been through some real shit. That's life. You cannot allow your hating ass cipher to point you in the direction of Lonelyville. Their asses aren't checking for you when they are boo'd up believe that. 

My point isn't that you should be blind to good, sound advice if you're in a fucked up situation but I am saying that sometimes bitches need to stay in their lane. I personally don't base my life decisions off of the opinions of what a bitter bitch with an ulterior motive thinks.

IDGAF I will ALWAYS tell a meddling, judgmental chick about herself. These bitches have no problem serving you food that they themselves would never touch. FOH ! Keep on listening to your "homegirls" and you will end up one lonely, powdered donut p*ssied individual. Mark my words. 

Libra Ish

I've failed at all of my relationships so far. Of course I don't mean to but I do. See, my problem is that I luv love sooo much that I probably won't ever find it. That seems to be the case with most Libras. We are in love with all things beautiful and pleasant so we get side tracked. I can even find the beauty in Lil Wayne (who also happens to be a Libra) describing his ejaculation on a girl's face as "Lancum". *sigh* He sure does have a clever way with words. What a romantic. Anyway, for the most part, Libra "luv" is superficial on the surface. When things are going well we get butterflies and can almost visualize a wedding and our summer condo in South Beach with Mr/Mrs right immediately. On the rare occasion that we actually do love for real it has the ability to destroy us. 

When I dig deeper though I know what my issue is. It really has nothing to do with the fact that I'm a typical Libra. Aside from (the idea and admiration of) relationships, engagements, marriages, whatever it may be I have only actually genuinely loved one man other than my son and my father. Problem is he's a version of my father. My father was the type to ask me where the rest of the points were when I showed him that I got a 97 on a test. I secretly always wanted the approval from him that I never got. I found myself going thru the same thing as an adult with Mr. Sagittarius. A judgmental, observant, kind, blunt, honest, responsible, protective, wise, emotional robot. A Sagittarius man just like my father. Just as emotional and complicated as a Libra but with a twist. They are capable of loving you but they just express it differently. See, their trick is that they have the ability to control their emotions by using logic. A typical Libra is no match against that. The type of man that I am never good enough for. The type of man that I always want to be good enough for. If we could have stopped being so hard on each other maybe the constant battle wouldn't have been. But see, that's where I fuck up. A relationship shouldn't be a battle of always trying to prove yourself to someone who is blind to it. I can't live my life trying to get approval from someone who can't see that all I wanted to do was be the one person that he didn't have to be the strong, emotional robot around. I wanted him to be strong enough with his faith in me and in us that he could show me his weakness. He never did. 

I love my father like no other and I still love Mr. Sagittarius but even more than that I love myself. And even more than myself I love my son. So if I learn from this shit and I'm the best woman that I can be then I will be the best mother I can be. In turn I will not be the deep rooted cause of my son's failed relationships when he gets older and I thank God for that. The burden of that guilt would kill me. 

Are You Following Me !?!

Sometime last year one of my sisters "put me on" to how "cool" and "trendy" #Twitter was. She convinced me to create a profile. I hated it. After 2 weeks, I deleted my profile. Earlier this year one of my exes/former best friends convinced me that I needed to give #Twitter a second chance for a plethora of reasons. Because he has #dimples and #muscles and #tatts I followed his instruction. Men that look like that are usually able to persuade me to do a lot. In fact, it was one of his kind that taught me that a woman that #swallows is priceless - but that's another blog for another time. In any case, former best friend has no idea of what type of monster he has created.

It's safe to say that I am addicted to #Twitter. I wake up tweeting , #tweet throughout the day and tweet before I go to bed. I get slightly upset if I have no @ mentions when I open up #Ubertwitter (@U_Luv_My_Tatts). I hashtag whether I'm tweeting, texting, bbming, or Facebooking. I sometimes THINK in #teams. If I'm @ the vending machine @ work, I'm thinking, #TeamCoke or #TeamDr.Pepper - which fuckin team should I be on today !?! If I ever met alot of my followers I would actually WANT TO hang out with them. I've seen approximately 4 of my NY followers in person both on purpose and by chance. I have roughly 11 Twitter crushes - 50+ Tweethearts - 1 Twitter fiancee and 1 Twitter ex - bf. TBH I'm not sure if the people that fall under these categories (both male and female) are even aware of their roles but it doesn't matter. If I really want them to know who they are I can just list them. I will not though, because I like the somewhat anonymous, carefree paradoxical nature of Twitter where everyone is equal and unequal at the same time.

The characters that are on #Twitter are ridiculously absurd yet ridiculously entertaining. There are the thugs, the regular college kids, the rappers, the singers, the good girls / boys, the bad girls / boys, the beautiful ones, the sexpots, the comedians, the paper chasers, the weed heads, the alcoholics and the flirts just to name a few. I personally happen to be in about 8 or so of those categories but one #team that EVERYONE on #Twitter will swear that they are on is #Team Real. I also notice that apparently no one is on #TeamBroke. I guess all the broke people are too broke to have mobile phones or computers *_* That in itself is a joke. Everyone is an exaggerated version of themselves which our #Twitter names reflect. No one can convince me of any different. My twitcon is a pic of me in a yellow Rugby bikini this past summer. In real life, the most body art that I'll randomly have on display are my arm tatts. I once tweeted that #Twitter reminds me of 'The Sims'. It's wildly realistic and entertaining, but it's just that - entertainment. I'm not mad at it though. I'm gonna ride the wave until I'm over it or until the next big thing comes along. *Kanye shrug* *runs off to #tweet about this blog*

Ext. 936

Once upon a time there was a 22 yr old female that needed to find a job that would help her pay for all of her CUNY/nail/hair/clothing expenses. Oh and she was also the single mom of a 2yr old - so she needed to pay for childcare also. Of course, her ideal gig would be one that would pay her tremendously and still allow her time to attend and study for her final year of classes as well as see her baby as much as she could. One day, while sitting on a Central Park bench and sipping on a 5 dollar tall Starbucks iced caramel macchiatto (no whipped cream) she flipped to the back of her Village Voice to privately sniggle at the erotic ads in the back. She came across the "help wanted" section and noticed that an "adult oriented customer service center" was looking for reps - hrly salary base + bonuses, 401k, paid vacation, personal days - NO EXPERIENCE NECESSARY !!! As a (half) joke she called the number and surprisingly got an interview. She was interviewed by a friendly, obese woman that asked her all of the usual interview questions. Before the interview was closed out she was handed a porno mag with a passage highlighted and was asked to read it aloud. "Oh, but hang on", said the interviewer. "I'm going to call you from the other room and I want you to read that passage to me when you pick up the phone." "OK", said the interviewee. " Nice and clear !!", said the interviewer. Obese nice lady walks out of the room and pulls the sliding doors shut. The phone in the interview room rings. Slowly and steadily the interviewee reads the passage even though shes dying laughing and nervous on the inside. After she finishes the passage, the interviewer with a smile in her voice says, "Great !!! Thanks! I'll be in shortly." She comes back into the room with a red folder filled with paperwork and starts explaining the job details of a rep that works in an "adult oriented customer service center". Turns out that the ad ommitted the word "call" before the word "center" and the "rep" position was actually for a phone sex operator. Ms. 22 year old is offered the position and accepts the job before she thinks about what she's doing. The next 2 weeks are filled with "training" classes. This includes having company funded catered breakfasts and lunches in the conference room while watching porn. Aaaah cream cheese bagels, grilled chicken caesar salads and blow jobs ! They even practiced giving handjobs on an amazing dildo which she later learned was called "The Black Lover". Could this GET any better !?! Until it became time for the first phone call. Ms. 22 is guided to a cubicle with a black PC. She's given a set of headphones and a mug with "936 Natalie" emblazoned on both. There's a small black box with a number keypad on top of it to the right of the computer screen. "OK", says the trainer. " Plug your headphones into the little black box and watch your screen. Whatever pops up is who you will be. Don't forget to type notes while you're speaking to him. That way when he calls back, you know who he is." "What the FUCK is this lady talking about !!!?!!" is what runs through Ms. 22's mind. 10 seconds later, "HORNY HOUSEWIFE" pops up on the screen. Ms. 22 gets it now. Or at least she has to pretend she does. "Hey babe are you married?", asks Mr. Caller. "Ummmm yes - yes I am", says Ms. 22. "What's your name, honey?", asks Mr. Caller. "Ummmmm" Ms. 22 looks at the mug. "Ummm Natalie. My name is Natalie". "Where's your husband now?", asks Mr. Caller. "He's at work. He works 10 hours a day", says Ms. 22 and so on and so on. The first call turns into 5, 5 turns into 15 and 15 turns into 160. By now, Ms. 22 knows what voice and accent to use when she sees the letters in size 48 Arial font pop up against the screen. "Natalie" can be the "HORNY 19 YR OLD" from California, the "FEISTY COLLEGE CHICK" from Texas, or the New York "DOMINATRIX". Surprisingly, despite the nature of the job, the office as well as their procedures are extremely professional and high tech. Your personal extension is also your pin number to log into your computer, your pin number to access your "personal" messages just in case you're unavailable when one of your regulars call and your employee ID number. Bonuses were based on the amount of minutes that you'd accumulated during each pay period. These were tracked and displayed on your screen as you worked. All calls were monitored at all times by senior reps to make sure that all guidelines and rules were being followed. Often, if Ms. 22 ran into a problem with a call, one of the more senior reps would IM a message to her directly

to help her out. All of the callers' info except for their credit card numbers were displayed on the screen during the phone calls. Ms. 22's favorite feature was the ability to type notes while she spoke to her callers. This was especially useful because when she had repeat callers, as long as they kept using the credit cards that the company's billing department had in their database, she could use her notes from their last call, making Mr. Caller feel like she actually knew him and had a personal connection to him because she "remembered" him. The notes also helped "Natalie" to keep her stories straight. If she told Mr. Banker from Chicago that she was a 23 year old waitress she needed to have continuity and be precise with that same info the next time that they spoke. A vital rule to making it in the industry is to be believable. During her employment at the company "Natalie" learned a lot about communication with men from all different backgrounds and walks of life. The one common thing amongst all of them is that they were all lonely in some way and just needed to be listened to. 40 % of Ms. 22's calls were non sexual. After a year, dealing with the other 60% for 10hrs a day 4 days a week Ms. 22 began to get nauseous every time she answered a call. It was time to put away the anal lube. "Natalie" had earned close to $60,000 during her time as a rep. She went out with a bang - no pun intended ! Fast forward 6 years. She's never gone back to the industry and never will. I do know one thing though, whoever this chick ends up with is gonna be one lucky guy who will never be bored in the bedroom ! She has tons of "experience" with men's fantasies and won't be scared off easily. I can bet that she wont flinch if a dude asks her to bang him in the ass with a big black dildo while eating a Mcdonalds Big Mac and pouring Elmer's Glue all over his back...I mean - I'm just saying if he's into that sort of thing of course.

To Eat or Not 2 Eat...

The countdown begins. September 18th is the day that one of my closest friends turns 30. A group of us sexy divas are partying in style and going to Vegas to celebrate the big day.

OK - Now I'm panicking....9 weeks until my trip to Vegas. Using psychotic math to calculate my maximum weight loss I decide that it is indeed possible if not ridiculously easy to lose 20 lbs by the time I step into my cab on the way to LaGuardia. The game plan is flawless. I will lose 2 lbs a week by ingesting nothing but soup, salad, coffee and water for the entire time of my "weight loss program". That will only make me 18lbs lighter which is why I must make sure to schedule an appointment for a colonic to get rid of the additional 2 lbs. Maybe afterwards I'll be 23 lbs lighter instead of just 20 !!! That would DEF get me hyped. In which case I would most definitely deserve the Red Velvet cake that I secretly hope we order for Kat's birthday on the night of her bday dinner @ Nobu in Caesar's Palace. Wait a minute - does Nobu serve Red Velvet!?! Aiight in any case I'm getting off topic here. Instead of joining a gym, I'll take the clothes off of my folded up treadmill and actually use the effing thing for an hour a day in addition to jumping rope for 40 minutes when I get home from work. I don't even wanna mention the sickkkkkkkk Ralph Lauren Rugby monokini that I got 2 months ago just for this occasion. I've already started buying my freak 'em dresses/clothes for the trip in a size 4 because thats the size that I will be after all of my hard work. This serves as motivation for me to get off of my lazy ass and actually do what I'm supposed to do! I should have started this last week, but a few extra spicy drumsticks from Popeyes got in between me and my plans so I decided that I should get all of the fatty boombati tendencies out of my system so that once I start I don't falter *hanging head in shame*. Of course I can't tell my best friend who happens to be a personal trainer my plan on executing this quantum weight loss plan (as I like to call it in my head) because he will try to poison my mind with his crazy bullshit talk like, ""Why don't you just cut out your complex sugars?"or "Replace all the sodas you drink with water." Or even more ridiculous, "Take walks during your lunch breaks and cut out the candy snacks" and, "Alternate between small cardio routines and tone up exercises so that you don't overwhelm yourself - you'll start to see a difference". Ummmm f*ck all of that !!! I need to drop the weight and I need 2 drop it NOW !!! The short form fitting fuschia dress that I bought 2 wear on the night that I drunkenly marry some random White guy in the chapel of the Bellagio depends on it !!!! I can just hear Mr. Best Friend now. "The problem isn't around your waistline - the problem is in your head!"