More Questions

I LOVE this picture. I remember being a child, and literally staring at this album for hours. Good album too. All the way around is the business.

What's up with....

Niggas not answering blacked numbers on their cell phones?
I mean are you really that afraid of a damned phone call? If someone calls that you don't want to talk to, hang the fuck up.

Niggas not having a job?
I ain't even gotta explain this one.

Niggas wearin white tees and sweats like it's a dam outfit?
Although you already know Negra's feelings about how sexy an ensemble this is for young Black men.

Niggas period?

Women wanting to be some nigga's "baby mama"?

Folks who are willing to have a child together, but specifically not wanting to get married?
Aren't children more of a commitment than marriage. I'd rather be married than have a child. Well, actually, no, I wouldn't. But I'm just a hoe like that.

Sizzler's food?
Why is that the nastiest shit in the world? It tastes like hot iguana piss. And that's everything on the menu.

MySpace?
No, I don't have to put you in my "Top Eight". And everything I say on there is not accurate. The majority of the stuff i put on there, is meant to be funny. When I say my occupation is "Aspiring Baby Mama", that does not mean I'm looking to fill out job applications.

Black Planet?
That.Shit.Is.Hillarious.

Yo dis ya boi Tra-vi-viaughn staight ouuta Copmton, that CPT, knowwhatimsayin, and im lookin fo a lady who be a lady at all time. I 'm on my grown an, and I ain't got no time fo no hoe's game playin and shit. I need a lady who iz a lady, but can take that shit like a muthafuckin' man. No Homo, son.

Freaking hilarious. If Black Planet don't get your fire burning, your wood's wet.

The whole "no Homo" thing?
Nigga, saying no homo does not cancel out the very homo things spewing out off your very homo mouth. If you feel the need to say no homo after any statement, guess what? Your ass is a homosexual.

Summer's Eve feminine wash?
Just wash your tang with soap, and if your not nasty, the shit will work out just fine. Ain't no body's vagina that damn sensitive. Yeah, I have some, but only because they were two for a dollar, at the Dollar Tree.

Me just writing random thoughts?

Ranting and Raving

Only read this post if you have the time. PLEASE.

BLACK MEN

Please click this link and watch this ENTIRE video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XJbDvAMORr8
?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

What the hell happened to our men?

My ex's (don't ack like y'all 'ont know who I'm talkin' bout, JR's trifflin/sexy ass) MAMA was in this video. This shit is hot out here in L.A.

Now, not everybody out here is a gangster obviously, but there are a LOT of them out here. And even more who WANNA be gangsters. What the hell? And if you're not a gangster, or you don't want to be one, you wanna be one of these.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y7iZvvcNBTE

????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

When did Black people stop reading? 'Cause I'm pretty sure this nigga ain't picked up nan book.

I'm so fucking sick of my young, Black men acting out like this. Everything is about being a pimp or a gangster. Everything that's attractive, entertaining, or nice is either "gangsta" or "pimp".

I once asked a guy I liked what he did for a living or if he went to school, and his response was, "Why you askin' me all lat? I mean who all up in my business. It ain't like we gone get married or nuthin'!"

What?! Damn nigga, why you just can't say you ain't got no damn job?!

But for those them do "tell" you what they do for a living, here's what they often say (I've comprised a list for you):

1."I'm a money maka."
2."I'm a go getta(damn you Jezzy)."
3. "I make it do what it do."
4."I be on nuh 'grind'. "
5."I'm make music."
6. "I just do me."
How is 'doin' you and gadamn occupation?
and my very favourite, please note, this response can be given to either question 'What do you do for a living, or, 'How was your day?'
7. "Well, I can't really be sayin' all lat on da phone, knaemean?"

Good Jesus.

I'm so mad a Black men right now it's sickening.

WHITE MEN

Why when I was at the copier yesterday, did this white man call me Kim, and when I turned around, he said" Oh, I'm sorry, wrong person".

HOLD UP. PAUSE!

Lemme tell y'all about what "Kim" looks like:

*4"11
*100lbs
*mocha frapaccino colored skin
*short natural hair
*size 14 A bra
*only wears slacks
*wears business suits everyday, she she is in HR

Now, lemme tell y'all what La Negra Linda looks like:
*5"4(5"8 in heels, which I wear EVERYDAY)
*125lbs
*milk chocolate skin
*long basket weave
*wears skirts everyday
*dresses very casually

1.How the fuck could you get us confused? If Kim wore the shoes I wear, she wouldn't be my height.2. Did the muthafucka think she grew 14 inches of hair since the last time he saw her?

Oh did I fail to mention he had just left a meeting with this hoe FIVE FUCKING MINUTES before he saw me?! I saw they asses in the conference room!

I had on a BROWN PLAID SKIRT!

She had on a BLACK SUIT!

WHAT IN THE MUSTY COITUS HELL?

Sorry y'all. I just had to get this shit outta my system. I'll be back tomorrow with a few funny posts. I'm off to pick Carl up from work?

Huh? Who's Carl? Oh. Yeah, remember lil' dick? Yeah, that's him. He thinks I'm his woman now. Meh.

Turns out his penis isn't so little. It's just when you have sex with a mule,(JR) and then go back to humans,, it just seems smaller.

I'll be back tomorrow y'all.

Holler.

Are We That Bad At Funerals?

First of all, how in the hell do you lease a casket? Do any of you know? I'm at a loss for words. Really.

Anyway, my play mom sent this to me. It was kinda funny in a morbid sort of way. I've never been to a funeral, so I really don't know. Does this really go down?



You know you're at a black funeral when:


1. three generations get out of the family car to beat down someone for cutting into the funeral procession.

2. You have relatives coming in shackled from the State Penitentiary to pay their respects.

3. A fist fight breaks out.

4. When people break down crying, try to climb into the casket, and tell the Lord that they "want to go."

5. The dead person is wearing $3,000 worth of jewelry, and the funeral directors strip the body before closing the casket for the final time.

6. Friends and family wear T-shirts with a photo of the deceased on it...to the funeral!

7. Someone walks around to view the body and yells out, "DAT WUZMY N*G**A!"

8. The brothas stand around drankin after the service and someone "pours a li'l sumptin on the ground for the homey who's no longer with us."

9. Most of the relatives keep fainting before, during, and after the service.

10. Everybody strips the grave of flowers to take home.

11. The dinner after the funeral turns into a family reunion, folks break out cards and dominoes, somebody starts playing some Marvin Gaye, and all the older men start talking about how they used to pimp back in the day.

12. the obituary was made on a home typewriter and is filled with misspelled words...even the name of the deceased!

13. The picture on the obituary is of the deceased from 30 years ago!

14. Everybody is trying to out cry one another as if crying the loudest will qualify for a prize after the funeral.

15. The deceased didn't have 2 nickels to rub together, but leaves the world in a $15,000 silk lined mahogany coffin.

16. The soloist sings about 15 verses of "Precious Lord" or "His eye is on the Sparrow."

17. The funeral is two weeks after the death of the decedent.18. Speakers start cussing during their "remarks."

19. Unknown children shout "Daddy" from all over the church.

20. The preacher doesn't know which wife to give the flag to.

What In The Hot Holy FUCK?!

How do you fuck this up? Nah, for real? How difficult is it to fry chicken? There are just certain things that are so simple to prepare that if you aren't able to, you ought be shot in the corner of a dark room and peed on. Fried chicken? That's one of them.

Maybe I'm overly sensitive about the subject because I'm well, you know, Black. It's not a stereotype if it's true. We eat fried chicken. And we eat it a lot.

So, last night, I'm starving. I think I've been going through a bit of depression, and have been sleeping a lot, and not eating as much as I normally do. A bit of that is due to depression (no it's NOT J.R. J.R. who?), but the majority of that is because I am so picky that I would rather not eat than eat something I don't like. Yeah, stupid I know. I have gone 2 days without eating because I couldn't find anything that I wanted to eat. I went grocery shopping the other day, so that I could prepare my own meals.. My mother makes super every night for my father, and I never eat. I don't know what the hell that had to do with anything, I'm just typing at this point. I really need to have some sort of an outline when I'm doing this whole blogging thing.

So like I was saying before I started saying the nonsense in the previous paragraph, I was absolutely FAMISHED last night. I was so hungry I could boiled pig endometrium . So I thought.

I was at work last night, and my boss(who is so freaking cool, it's ridiculous) asked what I'd eaten for lunch. I told him I went home, and had a little carne (meat), and that was all. He wanted food, and I wanted some more food, so we decided that we would get something to eat. He suggested "Greasy Chicken". I agreed. He eats this stuff like every day, and I've seen it. It looks DELICIOUS!

Since hindsight is 20/20, looking back, it's my damned fault. You don't trust people who aren't Black about fried chicken. But then again, HOW DO YOU FUCK UP FRIED MUTHAFUCKIN' CHICKEN?!!!!

We had a ton of work last night, so he wasn't able to get the chicken until much later that evening.

Oh how my mouth watered in anticipation of the deep fried yard bird. I could barely focus or concentrate thinking about it.

And when he brought it back? Lawd Jesus! I saw the massive grease stains that penetrated the brown papered bag, and the smell emanating from it, and thought that I had died and gone to Heaven.

Only later to learn that I had been sodomized, brutally murdered, and ended up in Satan's Laundromat.

I asked how much did I owe him, and he said the five most beautiful word in the English language, "Don't worry about it, it's paid for". I'm wondering how this can get any better I'm damned near ready to speak in tongues now. *cue fast organ, tambourine, and bass guitar music*

I sat down at my desk, and asked where the hot sauce was. 'Cause who the hell can eat fried chicken without hot sauce?

He told me he had some. Great. So I'm waiting for this:

But-- got this:Okay, I mean, it ain't Louisiana, but, Tapatio is okay, I guess? Get yourself a cup-o-noodles, put some lime juice and Tapatio in that bitch, and tell me that shit ain't the BUSINESS. Shout out to all my Mexican homies that taught me that shit.

So, I begin to eat my french fries. And they were on point. I was shoving like six or seven in my mouth at once. Nah, wasn't the hunger, I'm just a damn pig. Call me 5-0.

Then I go to have a bite of chicken. I see that there are feathers still attached to that bitch! Uh? Okay, I just pluck them sumbitches out. Ain't no big thing.

But then I have a bite of that "chicken".

I don't know what the ethnicity of the people who prepared this, this, "chicken", but I do know good and damned well that they weren't of the African Diaspora. Well maybe they were since that shit tasted like deep fried fruit bat afterbirth.

That was the most disgusting thing I've ever put into my mouth--ever. And I'm not one of those girls who lies, and says they don't preform fellatio.

I wanted to throw up my ovaries after eating that shit.

The hot sauce did nothing for it. It would be like attempting to eat possum testicles and putting salt on them to enhance the flavor. Shit.Don't.Work.

I can't believe I wrote an entire entry on this shit. The best part of that meal was my strawberry soda.

You know food is bad when it being free still doesn't make it taste good. Good Golly.

The Employment Chronicles

And you thought you had a bad job. This guy is collecting dead fish out of Kankaria Lake in Ahmedabad, western India. What happened?

Pollution. But not the usual sort. They say "the ritual immersion of Hindu Ganesha elephant deity idols made from plaster of paris and chemical dyes contaminated the water during a recent festival."

Nah, son. I had a job that was even worse than that. I loved it though. Peep this.

Okay, before I became a social worker, I had quite a
few jobs that sucked. A lot of them ( in fact All of
them) revolved around health, and persons with
developmental disabilities.

The job I had prior to this was called "Senior
Employment Specialist". My duties included, teaching
those with developmental disabilities( just follow me
folks), creating and finding suitable employment for
them. So basically I taught a class, helped out people
with mental retardation carry out their everyday
business and try to find them a job.

I had this one client. Let's call him A. A had a
disease called Prader Willi, which basically means he
was overweight, and didn't have the appropriate
mechanism in his brain to tell him he was full, thus
allowing him to eat soooooo much that he stomach could
literally pop. A was about 5'2, and 315lbs, and was
the most lovable person you ever met. He had moderate
mental retardation, and didn't speak much. I always
talked to him in Spanish ( he and his family were from
Argentina), and he would speak back to me in English.
The job was quite rewarding and I loved it, bu I was
NOT making enough to deal with the shit (read further,
and you'll understand why that's a joke) that I had to
deal with. The job became more and more unbearable.

As I said before, A didn't talk much, so he didn't
communicate with me the way he should have, or was
capable of doing. For instance. There was
this one time that we were in my car. He was unable
(and shit, so the fuck was I for that matter ) to take
the bus, so he rode around with me (along with another
client) in my car. Anyway we were in my car, and we
were havin' a good ole' time. We had just had lunch,
and because the summer of '05 was a a HOT one ( it
averaged 114 degrees) we had lunch in my car, with the
air and radio on. He was laughin' and nodding his head
to the music, and before we knew it, it was time for
him to go home. So, he rolls up the window (yes,
ROLLS up the window. Nothing in my car is automatic,
not even the transmission), unlocks the door, and gets
up to get out. As I'm saying by to him, I notice
something in my seat that looks like a cross between
thick chili, and a melted chocolate bar. Wait. Pause.
Uh, HUH?

Me: A, did you have an uh, "accident" honey? Why
didn't you tell me you had to use the bathroom, dear?
I woulda ...
A: *silence*
Me: Ah, shit (pun fully intended).

I don't know why I thought about that story, or decided to post it, but golly, was that shit nasty.

If you're interested (which it don't look like ya'll is cosiderin' ya'll don't say a damn thang in the comments section) I can tell you some more horrid stories. I have some far worse than that.

I'm Stealing from Coco!

You're Pizzazz! You always want to be the center of attention, and things must go your way or else! You've got a good sense of humor but you sometimes have a temper. Seems like you may be a little spoiled huh? Well don't worry, your friends still accept you for who you are.

We are the Misfits, or songs are better, we are the misfits, we're gonna getcha! Yeah! Tee Hee!

La Negra Linda's "Men"

This post was inspired by Julia. She said in the comments section of the last post, that she thought she had some some stories regarding men. Uh, baby, homeboy with no foot, that outdoes me--oh wait, ole boy Marcus aint have but one hand. Okay yeah, scratch that.

Anyway, I've had some doozies in my day. I don't know why I'm even shocked at the shit these niggas say to me any damn more.

Yesterday, I met a guy. Fine? My sweet Jesus, YES!

He said; "Eh, ma, you drive right? (Why do niggas ask this shit? I'm 22 years old. Of course I drive. I live in L.A., of COUSRE I have a car!)

Me: Yeah, I drive, my car's over there.

Him: Oh, okay mami, I see you, doin' real big withcho car and what not. That's right. Go to school, with a job, and a car, aaiight!

Me: Looking puzzled, "Uh, yeah, okay, so you drive, I mean I don't live out here, and I don't come out here real often, so..."

Him: Yeah, mami, I drive. You fine den a muhfukka too, I mos def gotta come out here an' see you lil' lady. I mean I got a suspended licence, and a warrant, but you worf it, knaemean?

Me Laughing, "Are you serious!" I Should have known he wasn't joking. That truly was my damn bad
.
Him: Yeah, but if I'm in jail, I can't make no money, knaemean, and I'm out here on my grind, you feel me? Once I get my lil' change together or whatever, I'll go and turn myself in and do this lil' bullshit as week or whatever, then it's all good, knaemean?

Me, trying to redeem myself, not knowing what the hell to say, so I do my normal response to Black men when I don't know what the hell they're talking about: "Oh, okay then ,that's what's up!
"
Him: Well I ain't tryin' to take up yo time, I see you in a lil' rush or whateva, so just hit me up when you get a chance, ma."

Me, puzzled again, with another generic response to the tomfoolery that is this "uneducated, urban Black male": " Fa sho".

Here goes a list of the "boyfriends" I 've had in my day. They all had something wrong with they ass. Satrting with:

Ray. This mofo, was crazy. I was 17, in my first year of college and was a virgin. I then, like now, had NO idea just how weird, and crazy old dudes ( and hell young ones too) were. So yeah, Ray. He wanted to be an astronout, bit got testucular cancer ( I used to date men who were waaay too damn old for me), so he couldn't pass the physical exam, and had to settle to be this.

Yeah. A rocket scientist. Boo fuckin' hoo dude. You work at JPL, and make 350,000 a year.

Yeah, homie. Get over it.

So ole boy wanted me to be his girlfriend, but said no. I was 17, and he was like 44! He was soo possive! He was building this plane at an airport out in Pasadena and wanted me to go with him one day. I was scared of him, so I went. There's 17 year old girl logic for you. Your'e scared of a dude who doesn't know where you live, over the phone, so you GO with him, so he doesn't get mad. Nice. Anyway, I went with him, and my mom called me on my cell phone, and said she wanted me to come home, and he got MAD! I mean he started throwin' shit talkin bout, "Your'e damned near grown, you can't stay out?!" Yeah, he took me home and apologized, but damn. Needless to sy, we stopped fuckin' with Ray. Only to get another "winner" though.

Michael. I met this dude when I was 19, and he was very charming ( to a 19 year old vigin. If I met this muhfukka now, I'd slap his bitch ass into the apocolopse). He always talked bad about his ex-wife (again another red flag that the 19 year old Negra didn't know about), and was an alcholic. I didn't know it. I had NEVER in my life been around alchol(my parents don't drink), so I didn't know the smell. This is a true story. I kid you not, I wondered why his "red punch" smelled "funny".

Anyway, he drank so much, that he ended up loosing his job, and had to move in with his mama.

Yeah. That shit deserved it's on paragraph. Homeboy was 38. Oh, and did I mention he was white? Yeah, and he's from Paris, Tennesee. Tell me this story don't get better and better by the damn second.

So he moves in with his mama ( who I didn't know at the time was a FUCKING RACIST), and hasn't told her that I'm black. Wait, what? Uh, okay. So I telll him, he can't have my virginity untill he let's his old scallywag mammy, that I'se NEGRA!

So you know what he did?

Yep, you guessed it! He cheated on me! Yay!

Anyway, in a druken stuper, he confessed his love to 19 year old Negra, and says he will tel his mama. And he did. She called me a nigger (never to my face, but I would hear her in the background while we were on the phone. Oh as A tasty tid bit, her live in boyfriend is a Mexican dude named Charles). Bitch shoulda been callin her damn son a lush and pedafile but whatever.

So she decides she wanted a Bed and Breakfast out in Mississippi, and sells her house, and moves out there, and gives Michael's broke and unemployed ass ( I was in my 3rd year of college, and had a full time job, plus volunteered at a home for persons with cerebal palsy. Yes, I AM indeed that bitch), the first and last, on his old apartment and he moves in. So we go on about our business, and I spend the night frequently ( when I think of the agony I must have inflicted upon my poor father, I cringe. I'm sooo sorry, daddy), and everything is honkey dory (pun fully inteded).

One day, after work, I see that he' s called me 9 times in a row. He was sick. I took him to a freee clinic, since he didn't have insurance ( yeah, but my nigger ass did, ha!), and we find out he has pancrantitis. Anyway, I called his mother and told her that he wasn't doing good.

To make a long story even longer, dude was in a coma for a month. His mama cussed me out in the hospital ( the staff called the police on her several times, without me even having to request them to do so), and I must say, the 19 year old Negra handled herself, quite well. I'm not even sure the 22 year old Negra could handle that well.

Michael fully recovered, and while he was recooperating, I literally wshed his ass and spoon fed him.

It was the day before Christmas Eve, and while I was feeding his invillant ass, I said " I want to go to Christmas Eve dinner (mind you at this point he and I had been dating for a year)". He looked at me puzzled, adn replyed, " No. " I asked why not, and he replied, " I'm not going to make my family feel uncomfortable for you."

I took my clothes out his house without further word spoken and left. I told him I needed the money that was owed me, and he wrote me a check9 That's one thing crackas is good for. It didn't bounce). I was heartbroken. So much so, that I left the state. I went to U Maryland, and haven't spoken to him since. I' glad I didn't give him my virginity. I'm glad I gave it to a man far more deserving. Ha! The sarcasam in that statement makes me cream my panties. Here's the guy I gave my virginity to. Paul.

Yep. A muthafuckin basehead. But I didn't know dude was a basehead! True story y'all! He ain't look like one!

I met him at the bus station in Washington D.C. I got on one of those damn F busses (never again, never the fuck again). So he's the most georgous, white man you've ever seen in your life. Plus I seem to have a lil' fetish with men who aon't Black, but think they are (see J.R.).

I'll spare you the details on how I lost my virginity, just know he got it, because dude was sweeter than pet milk when I met him, and I though he was a genuienly nice guy.

So one day we're hangin' out at his house and he's acting really strangely. I was at his house for nearly 3 hours, and he ignored me the entire time. I mean, literally ignored me.

I go to ask him what's goin' on, and I see this chick in the other room with the "old Eve" hairstyle, and I deciede it's time to go. I'm on the phone with my sister while all of this is going on, because I needed something to do, considering, he wasn't talking to me, so we're laughing at the whole situation. I go back in the room to get my purse, and Guess. The. Fuck.What.

Paul comes into the room smoking rocks on a Sierra Mist can.

Sigh, unfortunaltey, that was not my last encouner with Paul. The last encounter with Paul came when he stole my necklace. That's a whole 'nother story that I won't even get into right now.

So, after, my HORRIBLE expierence on the East Coast( screw you east coasters, D.C. is East Coast to my Cali behind), and believe me, it wasn't jus the crackhead expierence that made the expierence ( how mant times can I say that damn word? Can you say THESAURAUS?!) an awful one, I went back home. Smog never smelled to damned good. Next dude, was named Aaron.

Ah, Arron. I won't make fun of him too bad, in fact, I won't make fun of him at all, beacause as I've said on numerous occasions, I ain't goin to hell behind makin fun of handicapped folks. Aaron is schizophrenic. He streesed me the hell out. As I was dating him, my schzropherenic grandmother was living with me (she moved out here after the hurricane in New Orleans, and was staying with me. I didn't know she ws schizophrenic. My father didn't give me any kind of "Hey, my mama is crazy as a June bed bug" disclaimer either.), and I got PREGNANT by this nigga. Bad time in my life. I thought MY ass was crazy. I was so glad to get rid of his ass, and when my granmama( I love the hell outta her crazy ass too, don't get me wrong), you have no idea.

And then there's the love of my life. J. Muthafuckin'R. Oh how I love that man.

That former pimp, gang bangin' ass, man. I'm not fuckin' with him anymore, but gahdamnit is it hard. It's never been so hard to shake a man! I don't need to tell any stories about him, cause he's the current looser I'm "invoved" with. He just chirped me now ( I have Nextel, not Boost, bitches), and called me baby, and I damned near orgasamed. Sigh. I hate havin' to act like i don't want nothin' to do with his low life ass. He knows I'm frontin.

This was a half assed post. I didn't even do a spell check on it. I got drained after talking about Michael. Sue me.

But now that you've been introduced to them, expect many more stories about them. I have PLENTY. Except about Michael. I proabably will never post about him again. But the crackhead? Wait till I tell y'all bout how he stole my necklace!

One Night Stand

You know, we've all had our share of "One night stands". And if you haven't, I'd appreciate your keeping that to yourself, so that I don't feel like a whore. Thanks.

I was talking to a girl I know, and she was telling me about a one night stand she had.

We were 19, and I remember her talking about this guy named Reggie, who played football. She wanted me to go to one of his games. Said he had a friend for me, or some shit. Whatever. I was a virgin, and further more, that nigga played for my rival school. Hell to the naw. It was so funny because we were talking about this and I realized who she'd slept with.

YES, BITCHES! MY FRIEND BONED REGGIE BUSH! I was so pissed. I should have gone to that damn game, LOL. I ain't trippin'. I had a celebrity one night stand too.

Shut up. I didn't even know who the hell he was. I don't listen to mainstream hip hop, let alone underground.

Apparently, his name is "Planet Asia". Whatever. His real name is Hassan, and the nigga's AN ASSHOLE, and the reason it was a one night stand is because I never wanted to see his ass ever again!

Okay, enough of this. I'm sooo not trying to be Supahead. Just reminiscent on the sex life I once had...

About Me

Since I don't have any friends in Cyberspace(or in real life, let's just go on and be real here), I haven't been "tagged" to give 4 or 5 random, unusual, quirky, or just flat out weird things about me. So, since I have the best job in the world, and have the pleasure to be working on a Saturday in beautiful Los Angles, when it's 71 degrees outside, I'll go ahead and post this to occupy my mind, and forget about what I could be doing, if I weren't here. Plus, Jess is calling me manes, and I don't want to have to kick her ass. So now I present:



Four Things You Never Wanted to Know About Me:




1) I am deathly afraid of flags.

When I was in third grade, the coolest thing in the world was to be "Flag Monitor". The flag monitor was the person who held the flag during the pledge of allegiance. For MONTHS, I wanted this job. I never got it.But, after weeks, and weeks of daily disappointments, frustrations, and let downs, I got the opportunity to hold the flag. As I walked up to the front of the class, and my heart raced with a trmrndous grin on my face, and sheer frolic in my eyes. I held the flag, and guess what? My ass was petrified. Something about the deep, rich, colors of that sumabitch had my little 8 year old behind terror-stricken. And to this very day, I literally shudder when I see flags. No joke. It actually took a lot of courage to write about this, not because I'm ashamed or think it's silly or anything, but because I had to Google this damn picture. Yes, I did shudder.

2) My dream is to be a housewife.

People are always giving me the side eye when I say this. They always ask "Why are you going to law school, and spending ridiculous amounts of money to be somebody's woman servant?" These people are obviously densely ignorant about Negra. First of damn all, there is nothing I'd enjoy more than to be some beautiful Black man's servant. Are you kidding me? Pull my hair, throw me up against a wall, and boss my ass around, daddy. Please. And do it again whileyou're at it. Secondly, uh, y'all know the kind of men I like? Do you really think I can sit around and wait on one of them niggas to take care of me financially? Come the hell on. I got to go to school to be able to take care of my damn self, because I doubt I'll be able to find a man like that. I mean really. What's the likely hood of me finding some guy named Demontray whose got long corn rows, wears corduroy house shoes, has 20+ tattoos, drives a Impala, smokes Black n' Milds, drinks Colt 45, listen to rap music, and has a damn job?! With BENEFITS? Come the hell on folks. I'm having a hard enough time tryin' to find men who look like me, that want to date women that look like me. Bottom line, I need to go to school, so that I can take care of myself. I can't sit around and wait on somebody to do something for me that I can do for myself. And I will finish law school, become a lawyer, do that for about 5-6 years get married (if not to Tru Life, then to a nigga who looks like his fine ass) and continue to practice law during my marriage. Until, of course, I get pregnant, then I'll become a housewife, and take care of my children. And because life always goes according to the way you planned it, this most certainly happen. And I'll stay married and die at age 162 in my sleep with my husband by my side. And I'll go to Heaven. Shut up. I'm still young enough to be delusional.

3) I don't eat seafood.

I'm quite possibly the only person born In New Orleans that doesn't eat seafood. That shit is just plain nasty. Fish? Gross. Shrimp? Yuck. Lobster? Hell naw. They look like big ass roaches! I don't know about y'all, but I've done had roaches in my house before, and them mofos don't look appetizing in the least bit. Seafood in general just smells bad. It smells like the ocean's upchuck, or poorly maintained female parts. Just ain't right. Just ain't.

4) I don't own a pair of tennis shoes.

I have over 300 pairs of shoes, and of that 300 about 250 of them are stilettos, and pumps. 45 are flip flops (I live in L.A. and we rock them bitches year round, son), and the other 5 are flats, or ballet shoes. I shop at all the hooker/stripper boutiques in Hollywood. The shoes are so hot and surprisingly comfortable. Well, maybe not so surprising, I mean, them hoes do be on they feet all night. Eh. Anyway, fukka gym shoe.

So there you have it. Random stuff about a stranger you don't care about! I mean I could have put in there that I curse too much (I'm sure y'all muhfuckas ain't know that shit), that I was molested from ages 2 or 3 to 10 years old, by a female member of my family, had an abortion in the last 12 months, or that I have a Schizophrenic grandmother, but it's my blog, I write what I wanna. Plus, none of that stuff is funny. I like to be funny. True, everything I just wrote about wasn't nearly as funny as it was ignorant, but eh. Screw it. Tell ya what. Go have yourself a blunt and read it again. Then, that shit will be mad funny, son.

Smile, No Matter What

"He is a wise man who does not grieve for the things which he has not, but rejoices for those which he has." ~ Epictetus ~

My self esteem is low.I'm not ugly, I know I'm not. I've been told by many, that I'm beautiful, and really could have a date every night of the week should I choose to. In fact, I've been guilty on many occasions of having so many dates in one night/week, that I won't go anywhere with any of them, because I'm so overwhelmed. And after all that, you know what happens? They still call my ass after they've been stood up, because I'm that chick lol.

But, my self esteem is mad low, son. That's the main reason I don't go on dates. It's not that I'm ugly, I'm not. I've got an incredible body. Small waist, no hips, bubble butt, I'm a 34D; for lack of a better term La Negra Linda is a Brick House. I'm mighty mighty. lol

I was called ugly throughout school. From Elementary to High. I hated school. In fact, they are the reason I kept my grades up, because I was going to be better than all of them. And if success is measured by additional schooling, not having children, and having a decent job (it's not, so don't get all uppity), then I've surpassed all those malicious children. It's so funny too, because all those guys who dissed me back in the day, are steady tryin' to holla now! HA! I see you son! And I hear you hummin, but I ain't comin'! Not literately or figuratively speaking!

Again, my self esteem is low. My biggest (and probably only) insecurity? My teeth. I think they are HORRIBLE. In my opinion, my parents failed me miserably when they did not get me braces. I am sooo insecure about these bad boys, it's ridiculous. I know I'm a pretty girl, but still, I've never been able to understand just why any man would wanna talk to a girl with a pulchritudinous (for all y'all that was too lazy to look it up, it means attractive) face, and the mouth of a wilder beast (all y'all that laughed, just know you're going to hell on full scholarship).

I went on a date last night! Are y'all proud of me? I went on a date, and it wasn't with Thugie-Poo, the guy I talked about in my last post! I went on a date with a sweet, sweet guy. Very nice. I don't even know what else to say about him. Just a tremendous, wonderful sweet guy. Oh, and did I mention, he's HOT?! Yes, yes, he is. I mean how the hell can you go wrong with that combination, shiitttit!

Negra, that's great! That's tremendous! We're all so happy for you! Where did you meet this guy? Huh? uh ruh... Negra...? I uh, okay I met him on Myspace. D'oh! I know, I know. I didn't anticipate meeting him on MySpace! Hell, I never anticipated meeting any damn body ( and trust me I ain't) on that thing. It just kinda happened. We talked and joked around, and we exchanged numbers and decided to meet up. But Negra, you can't just be meeting folks on My Damn Space! I mean-- Okay, whose damn blog is this? Y'all can talk y'alls shit on someone else's shit. I'm tryin' to tell a damn story!

Now. He was coming from the city (Los Angeles) to get me from where I live (the Valley), and that takes roughly 30 minutes. I swear the chile musta been drivin' 110 mph to get to me (told y'all I was fly), because he was there in 15!I wasn't ready when he got there! I didn't think he would get there so damn fast! So while he was outside, he had to wait for me to get ready! And it rained earlier that day, so a sista hair was FLUCKED up! I had to curl it! And you know what?! He waited for me( told y'all I was fly =)!

So 20 minutes later ( My curls later came out, because I did a crappy job of curling me hair, I did it in 15 minutes y'all), I'm walking to his car, and I'm nervous as shit, because all those pictures he saw of me, on MySpace, were damn near Glamour Shots, minimising the appearance of the wretched teeth, and I smile. He smiles back. Wait, what? Did this nigga not just see my grill? Why he smilin"? Is he laughin at me or somethin'? He asked me where I wanted to go, and I responded that we could go to Starbucks and figure it out from there. He agreed.Now, I'm sweatin like a pimp with one hoe, because of my insecurity. And to top things off, this nigga keeps lookin' at me and smilin'! I feel like ole' boy in my last post and am ready to start wildin' 'cause I wanna know what in the fuck he's smilin' at!

When we get to Starbucks, he's as confused as a baby in a topless bar because: a) He's a man. The hell does he know about a latte'? and b) He's Black. The hell does he know about a latte'? So I order a White Chocolate latte' for him because say it with me y'all, What the hell does he know about a latte'? Tee hee, Sometimes I'm too funny for my damn self. Anyway, I ordered it for him, and I said something to the effect of " You don't know shit 'bout ordering a latte' because you're Black (yes, I realize there's irony there. That's what made the joke semi funny), and I put my hand on his hand as I said the word "black" to indicate the color. And. Guess. The. Fuck. What.

Dude. Had. A. Fake. Hand.

I was just about ready to draw a chalk outline around my newly deceased body, when I regrouped myself, as not to alarm him. Oh my dear LORD. I was so embarrassed. For HIM, not for ME! I didn't want him to think that that kind of thing matters to me. I mean, I told you guys, he's a sweetheart. I mean, the boy can give you a toothache with all that damn sugar! And again, I told y'all I have my insecurities too! I just wanted him to know that it was all good! I ain't trippin'!

The night went on, and we were jokin' and hugged up on one another, like nothing ever happened. I mean at least I did. We ended the nigh t with a few kisses ( no tongue, but that's a different post) and planned to go to the movies this coming Tuesday.I called him to make sure he got home safe but didn't answer my call! D'oh! I text him earlier today, and he said he went to sleep as soon as he got home, but when I called again, he didn't answer. I'm going to attempt one last time to call him in a few minutes, and if he doesn't answer, then it'll be up to him to make the next move.

I learned two things last night: Be thankful for what you have, as life could always be a lot worse, and NEVER, NEVER, let an insecurity stop you from doing something. If anyone is focused on that insecurity, they're not worth the time spent in your head thinking about them. Sometimes your insecurity can weed out all the fake, superficial people in your life, and that's great.

I just hope Marcus knows I'm a genuine, and sincere person.

MEN!

Anybody who knows me (not necessarily in the Biblical sense, mind you), knows that it's very simple to make La Negra Linda happy(I speak of myself in the 3rd person ALL the damn time. Got that ish from my mama). In fact there are only four real things that bring me ABSOLUTE joy, no matter what.

1) Food- La Negra Linda EATS. I'm quite finicky, picky, or whatever you wanna call it, and once I've discovered a type of food that doesn't make me cringe at the sight or smell of it, Negra is doin some SERIOUS consuming, son. Trust.

2) Music- I love music. When I was much younger, my father was a musician. Not the kind who smoked cigarettes, and propped me up on his knee, while telling me about how when he made it big, he was gonna by me a pony, then I wouldn't see the nigga for 6-7 months, due to his being on various "gigs", but in reality he was just livin with one of his hoes, that was payin his bills, so that he could have time to write, but wasn't writin nothin 'cause he had writers block, and she just didn't understand or appreciate his art, because she didn't really love him-- all while my mama was talkin' to me and my sister 'bout how he wasn't no good he was, which would make us cry, and be devoted to our father more than or mother, 'cause that nigga was gone buy us a pony, while she had stuff on lay-away at K-Mart for us ( how Hemingway of me). Na uh. I had, and still HAVE a GOOD father. He introduced me to music. He would play songs for my sister and I ( She's older than I am, and that trick got a SONG written about her when she was born), and explain all the instruments (and he played ALL of them), what they were called, how they were used, etc. To this day my music of choice is the classic R&B that he played for me.

3) Shopping- I'm a woman. 'Nuff said.

4) Men- Good GOD almighty do I love me some mens! I mean, 3 and 4 are tied in with each other! I go shopping all the time to be up on my game for menses!

Say what you will about women not needing a man to "validate them in anyway. You know what I say to that shit? Eff that,yo! Validate me nigga. Validate the FUCK outta me. I love everything about men. The way they, look, smell, talk. Fab, you hear me? FAB!

The only problem is that my adulation for all things male, I think causes extreme myopia, which ultimately brings about brutal mental anguish.

There's this guy I like. Fuck what you heard, despite my name, La Negra Linda has self esteem so low it can be scrapped off the ocean floor. And he's a gangster. No, not like " Nah, son, I don't wear no briefs, nigga, nah'msauin?! I'm a gansta. I wears DRAWZ, my nigga D-R- AWZ." No, not like that. Gangster as in this mofo started bangin' we he was NINE. His MAMA y'all, was in this gang, and was KILLED by her rivals. That kind of a gangster. He's NOT my boyfriend, and I'm not sure I would (hell who am I kidding, I do, I just don't wanna get shot) even want him to be my boyfriend. He just gives me attention. And I am an attention, is-you-buyin'-'cause I'se sellin'- WHORE.

Recently, I've been doing all the stuff that HE should be doing. I.E. paying his insurance, phone bill, buying dinner (am I getting PIMPED? Gah DAYUM, I really AM a whore! lol but not really =( ). And I've been getting a lil' less attention than usual. But you know what? I DON'T feel used! "Of course Negra you don't feel used. You like the guy". Okay, okay, maybe that's true. But remember how I told you guys about how much my hot behind liked men? I will JUMP at the opportunity to leave one, and get me another damn one. I've been used before. Hell, I get used all the time, really. Not always with money. In fact, when I 'm being used, it only deals with money, maybe 40% of the time. So, my point to this pointless post is : I KNOW when I'm being used. And when I get to that point, I stop. And maybe I'm blinded by his good dic--er-- personality, but, I don't feel like I'm being used. I could very well be.

My only problem with this guy is that I don't feel appreciated sometimes. That's why I'm fixin' to be done. Yea, Yea, I know I need to be done, cause homeboy used to be a pimp, has a baby mama(at 20), has a record longer than Crenshaw Blvd, and occasionally uses crystal meth, but we ain't talkin' bout that right now. I really need to get my ish straight. There are sooo many things wrong with this guy, but I am doing with him, what I do with MANY people. I ignore your faults and focus on what's "right" with you, rather than what's "wrong" with you. Is that wrong fam? Fam. Look at me actin' like I got folks really reading this jive.