The Plight of the Needy Woman

I've been wanting to write about this for a while, but I just never found a way to express it. But there are straight up, a lot of needy ass women in this world. And I can spot one a mile away, and predict the disaster that ensues later.

I consider myself somewhat of an expert on this subject because a) I am a direct descendant of the needy of all that is needy...my mother.
b) because the neediness is in my genes, I have also battled the needy disease quite a few times in my life. Kind of like a vampire fighting his thirst for blood. Kind of like Blade, yeah, that's good..like Blade.

I define needy as someone who literally defines themselves by a man, who can not do anything without their man, who will suffocate themselves if their man even threatens to leave them. Which is why, the said man stays with them in the first place, for fear of what will happen if they don't.

Neediness translates very seamlessly into other behavior patterns as well, the most recognizable one being extreme aggressiveness. If a needy woman does not get what she wants when she wants, she will cut you. What happens is her man disappoints her in some way, and because she is scared to death to piss off said man she will never say anything out of turn to him, but instead she will vent her frustrations on any and everything that does not go her way.

I will use as a basis for plot outline, my friend Jessica. Jessica has never had a real boyfriend before, until she met Bob 2 years ago. Bob is everything she's always wanted, tall, cute, articulate and on top of that they share the same interests. Jessica hits the jackpot. Well, see Bob has been in a relationship before and still talks to her, so he pretty much could give a shit about the "building a future together" deal.

Bob has broken up with Jessica twice before because he said he did not want to get too involved, to which Jessica called incessantly because she just wanted to "hang out".
Jessica has a nice paid for house that she owns, but because Bob won't stay there Jessica stays in Bob's shitty apartment, all the time. Bob was accepted to grad school in Brooklyn, so Jessica offers to go. He did not ask her, she offered. This from her mouth, mind you. She says she wants to be in New York for her art career, but keep in mind I've known her for about 3+ years and I have never heard her mention a thing about moving to New York.

She's on the computer looking for apartments and working 8 hours a day, while Bob works his part time, chilling knowing that he's going to have a loan check come in soon and he does not have to do shit.

Last, but not least, Jessica could not stop whining about Bob. I politely suggest why not just let him go first, and when you get money saved up, you move up there later. That did not go over very well.

And Jessica bitched me out, literally threw a tantrum, the other day because I told her that I did not want to hear the name Bob or anything that rhymes with for the rest of the day.

**Holds up pom-poms and cheers*** NEEDY!

Women like this scare me. I understand the dealing with the daily trials and tribs. of low self-esteem but damn!! If you're that scared that he's going to leave you he probably does not want to be with you for real in the first place. Two, he's with you know, he's not going anywhere, so how's it going to be when you're in a place where you two know no one and you'll be clinging to him like a bump on a log.

Sorry, Jessica this will not end well, it never does.

I Get Stood Up a Lot

I get stood up a lot. A lot.

Most of time it happens, when I meet some guy whether it be out in public, or other places (okay, the internet) and they contact me saying that they want to meet me. Usually the first suggestion is that they want to come over my house, or they want me to come over theirs, to which I say no. I often suggest that they meet me somewhere, like somewhere for coffee or something.

So lets take for example, last night. Unfortunately, yes, I have a myspace. And until, about last week, I had absolutely no idea that it should be retitled "Ass-gettin' central" because I did not have a clue that it was hook up city. I get messages on there all the time from men, questionable ones at best, who want to...you know.

Well, about 2 days ago it was different. One who contacted me was actually really cute, dare I say gorgeous. Not that looks should ever matter in the grand scheme of things, but we're just talking about sex here, not planning an engagement party. Anyway, we talked non-stop for two days on myspace. Some words were dirty, some not.

Turns out he lives here, about 5 minutes away from my job to be exact. So I got fed up with all the dirty talk and started hinting around about us meeting to see what he would do. Not expecting much, because I've been through this before and knew that if he had even the smallest feeling that wasn't getting ass, he wouldn't show up.

There's a coffee shop and a movie rental place right behind that I usually hit up about every Friday after work, so I told him to meet me there. So I wouldn't be going out of my way or anything. He was all, "Yeah baby, I can't wait until 9, I don't know if I'm going to make it that long." Yeah, okay.

So I went and got my green tea anyway as planned, no phone call, no guy, no big deal. It was fun while it lasted, kept me entertained for at least 2 days so that was a plus.

The last time this happened was some dude I met at the gas station, who kept going on about how pretty I was and he needed a good, clean girl. Yeah, okay. I told him I had a boyfriend so he can back off, but I gave him my number anyway, just to see what would happen, who cares? I'm too hard on dudes, anyway, need to give a couple a break. If not, caller ID and call blocking exists for a reason right?

He called me and leaves me a message saying that he would like to see me tonight. All right, you want to see me so bad, I'm going to Taco Bell to eat during lunch, at 12, during the day... meet me then. I went, ate my two taco supremes, no dude, no phone call.

And do you know, that fool called me 2 weeks later leaving me non-stop messages saying "Ooh, I just have not stopped thinking about you, you remember me, I would love to come over your house."

Okay, you straight up stood me up, dude. You probably did it knowing you a) forgot, because it wasn't a priority to you or b) you knew you would have to work for ass.

Whatever.

I Don't Feel Sorry for Britney Anymore

I've been trying the post the actual interview that's on youtube.com , but alas Blogger sucks

After this interview I officially do not feel sorry for Britney Spears anymore.
This bitch is playing us hard.

Its painfully obvious that she knows her career is over and she cannot live without attention, and the only way she knows how is to keep the tabloids talking about her. I know Ms. Spears herself orchestrated all this because it also appears that she does not have a publicist. No handler in their right mind would not let her go on TV looking and sounding like that.

Also, I officially don't feel bad for her anymore for these two reasons. A) She never once calls her son by his name, she refers to him repeatedly as my baby; like a prized object or a new puppy. This is evident that her baby is more like a pretty, shiny new toy to her than an actual human being she needs to raise and care for. Disturbing

B) She's a really bad liar. Also, proof that she does not have a publicist because if she did; they would have prepped her hard for this interview.

Bitch, you knew they were going to ask you about Kevin. The two things, actually the only two things you need to do if you don't do anything else is look Matt Lauer straight in the eye when he asks you a question, not to the right, every five seconds, stupid bitch.

The second thing is, this is Dateline, child. Not some hillbilly talk show shit on CMT. Look stunning. Have your shit together, so at the very least the public will distracted by how fantastic you look so they can't really focus on how stupid you are. You will be able to get away a lot more shit in the public eye if you at look good. Hell, you see what it did for Angelina.

My posts have been running a little long lately and I can go on with this subject. But I will get off my soapbox now and let you discuss amongst yourselves.

My mother.

Well t minus three weeks and counting until I move in with my parents. I just got a washer and dryer installed in my apartment too, so now its really going to suck living at home.

I have talked myself in and out of it several times. I keep saying, maybe I can stay through the rest of the summer, maybe I can push it back until the end of July, maybe I can just go out there and find a job and then worry about moving.

But this will happen, if I push anything back any further, I will chicken out and be here at these nightmare jobs even longer than I planned to be. I will get backed up on bills and I will be here (gasp) yet another year. That cannot happen. I'm still fairly young, and I have to start living my life for me...for once. If I don't do itnow, I'll never do it.

It's not necessarily the swallowing my pride and moving back home that's bothering me. Seriously, its not. It's dealing with my insecure basketcase of a mother on a full time basis. Before I have had the luxury of knowing that whenever she bothers me, I just go home and not answer my phone. Now I'm stuck there with her neurotic ass, all day long. This is really bad to talk about my mom like this, but unfortunately its true.

I even dread the day that I finally get rich, because we probably won't speak anymore. Its not the fact that I won't give her any, its the fact that she will expect a million dollar check like clockwork every month. And she won't even really appreciate because she feels like its owed to her because she gave birth to me. Yes, that sounds absolutely horrible, but once again, unfortunately its true.

Which is also another one of the prime reasons that I'm moving across the county.

Don't get me wrong. It's not the fact that she's a bitch, really. I can almost accept bitchiness. It's the fact that she is selfish and insecure on a dangerous level, on a level that I or most people for that matter, have never seen. If she's mad it me about something, she can't just be mad and not talk to me. She has to rub it in my face every five minutes whether it be by phone messages or stalking, that she's mad at me and not talking to me.

Why can't I just cuss her out and be done with it you ask? Well, I also believe that my mother is mentally unstable, due to symptoms she inhabits that I looked up on the internet. You can't really get super mad at a person if you know that something medically is wrong with them, and they cannot mentally process that they are talking crazy, which I truly believe that mother does. Before you ask, no, she won't get help. Yes, I have offered. So has my sister. The only time her attitude gets in check is if my father threatens to leave her, when she starts having her one of her "episodes" as I like to call them.

Well, I guess my solution is this. Keep my door closed at all times. Tell my father to let her know in a very firm way to leave me alone about their marriage problems. Be prepared to leave at any time, anywhere. And also be prepared to not talk to her for a couple of weeks at a time on end.

I Finally Love My Hair

I love my hair. Love it. Love it. This is a monumental occasion for me because I never love my hair. Even when there is weave in it, I still never love my hair.

If you have read prior posts of mine, my hair has been an uphill battle. My natrual hair is thin, I'm taking some of the blame of this because of my neverending obsession of it growing long. My attitude usually is, it won't do anything because its not long enough yet, and I treat it accordingly.

Here's a brief chrononlogy:
In college, I was so desperate to be different. There were so many girls and I had to stick out. I had streaks, but I was bold one night and bought some dark and lovely honey blond hair color from the campus bookstore. Needless to say, I didn't know what I was doing, I left it in way too long, and I dyed my roots instead of my actual hair, and no I didn't get it fixed. I was too broke.

That same year, I got some braids. I left them in for a month before it was time to go home for spring break. When time came to take them out, I was so hell bent on cutting them out it didnt occur to me that I needed to cut the braid at the end because my hair grew and I might cut my own actual hair. Needless to say, I didn't relay to my friend this information who was helping me cut them out. She was white, she didn't know. No, I didn't get it fixed. I was too broke.

When I did arrive at a beauty shop about 2 months later, the beautician proceeded to inform me that I looked like shit. So much that two beauticians had to cut my hair to fix the damage. I believe the quote was, "You look like a lawnmower ran through your head."
I had a picture of Salt from Salt N' Pepa from the very necessary album when she was super duper short, and I told her I wanted it cut like hers. I thought that it was a drastic change. She took the picture from my hand, took one look at it, looked at me and said, "Sweetie, you're hair isn't even this long now." I came out with my hair about one step above being shaved.

There was hair strike of 2001. I had the shittiest job known to man as an assistant manager in the mall where I had to where hats every day under hot lights. I hated that job, my boyfriend at the time, and life itself so much that I literally stopped combing my hair. I would throw some bobby pins in it and go to work and put a hat on. I believe it lasted about 2 months.

Skipping past the horrible haircut given to me about my aunt that I spoke of in an earlier post, after it grew back somewhat I got braids. The braids trend is repeat about every summer about the time that my hair becomes fried and overprocessed.

Now, we have a sewn in weave. Its great. Its easy, its not hot, you can actually take care of your own hair while wearing it, and most importantly it looks really natrual. Not one person, at least not yet anyway, who has complimented me on my hair has followed it by, "is it yours?". To which if it did I would happily respond, "Why, yes, as a matter of fact it is."