Why I Hate Going Out

I came to this epiphany last time I was in LA.

I hate going out....and pasta. But we'll concentrate on the topic at hand.

My cousin and I go out whenever I'm in LA, and I'm always so excited because I actually get to go to a real club instead of the non-existent ones around here. I figured because since its a bigger city, its a broader scope of men to dance with, better music, a stricter dress code, blah blah. So needless to say, I was looking forward to having a good time.

I have narrowed down my club experience down to science and each one is practically the same. First, going straight to the bar trying to generate a strong quick buzz that will carry you the rest of the night. Second, waiting for a good song to come on, then waiting, and waiting. Third, people watching while commenting on the jostling of your surroundings (a.k.a talking about girls who are too big to have on the outfits they're wearing).

And lastly, we have the actual dancing, which consists of finding a spot on the floor to get your groove on.

Hence, while partaking of the getting on of the grooving I encounter the part that I hate the absolute most about going out.

The fighting off of the sweaty men

There's nothing I hate worse then the smell of man who has been dancing hard as hell all night long, in a crowded hot club, who then spots you and decides that you are the one that he was been waiting all night to see. Therefore, he feels to need to entice you to have sex with him by rubbing his sweat drenched, musty, deodorant running, cheap cologne wearing body directly on top of yours. In motion. Ewww...dry heave.

And...here's the rub. They don't leave.

You try to politely dance away, they dance the same way. You try to turn your head, they turn it back. You try to hold your hand over your nose, they pull it down and put it on their neck. You pass out face first on the floor from the inhalation of toxic fumes, they dry hump your lifeless body on the floor. So on and so forth.

Also, when you manage to wrestle free from sweatbox and actually see someone cute that you want to dance with. One of these three instances occur:

They don't dance, nor they don't want to
Cuties don't really dance that much. If they do, they do their "I'm so cute I don't need to dance" two-step about 3 feet away from you. I also believe by the time the sweatbox is pried away from your ass with the jaws of life, every single girl in the club has tried to get in their pants, he's already chosen, and he's retired for the evening.

They're with their girl
I hate this shit. Why the fuck would you bring your girl to the club, why? What romantic memory are you trying to recapture by going to the club? The club is congested as hell so there's a big chance your going to see someone that you used to fuck. Also, desperate losers like me do not want to see you making out with your girl. I'm bitter enough being there in the first place.

Something is wrong with them
This category includes plenty. The most popular being gold teeth and speech impediments. The most common being upon first meeting uttering these words, "something ain't right about this motherfucker." If you have any more, feel free to tell me. I'm actually researching for future posts.

Yeah, and about that pasta thing. Its just slimy and gross and unfulfilling, and I'm going to stop forcing myself to eat it. That is all.

The Los Angeles Project

I am PMSing right now. Something awful. Plus my dumb ass decided to get hot chocolate this morning instead of coffee, big mistake. Therefore, the bitterness that is usually present in this post will be turned up a notch. You have been warned.

I had a panic attack last night. Most of the time I have them in my sleep, to the point where they wake me up out of sleep. And I can't go back to sleep. It's not a pleasant experience.

Why did I have a panic attack you ask? Because I am the spawn of some of the most meticulous, anal retentive, semi-negative, uncomfortably direct to the point people on earth. If you have hopes and dreams? Forget about it. They won't shoot down your hopes and dreams, but they will list every single possible reason known to man as to why your reasoning is completely unrealistic.

Make sense? If not, Here's a little taste of what my life has been like.

I am not good at standardized tests, mostly because I think they're retarded. If I take one, my score is going to be average to slightly above average. So imagine what happened when I took the ACT junior year of high school. No studying, was late, only took it because I had to, plus my attention span isn't the greatest. Got a 21. Happy. Good enough to get me into a decent school. Stress relieved.

My parents got wind of the score. Even though I got into college, and had a decent GPA, I absolutely have to take it over. The main reasoning? Because my sister got a 22.

Believe me, this wasn't a mild suggestion, I mean they made me take it over. Who gives a shit that I was satisfied and my future was secured. They'll be damned if they have two children walking around with two different ACT scores. Parents like them are unfit.

Fast forward to age 27, I'm talking to my sister and telling her my plans. Understandably, she has concerns, so a natural question would be, "What if this doesn't work out, what will you do then?". Honestly, live homeless on the streets of LA and not tell my parents. But of course I didn't say that.

But she could have just left it there, but no it went to this. "Well you know, you probably need to have a backup city, and start thinking about going there." Keep in mind, my sister knows I want to be an actress, so there really is no other city. Where the hell does she want me to go, Vancouver?

My point is, she had a valid point, but perhaps she should save it for when I'm not so hopeful.
My replacement starts in January, I have move dates, I'm screwed if I have to come back. Hence, my panic attack last night.

Its a little to early to start putting in resumes (I'm leaving in February), so no job prospects have come to fruition, and money is going to be tighter than expected due to my car fucking up every five minutes, and all I have to depend on is me.

(This will be continued by the way, not continuously but intermittently, pray for me)

The 5K Run

So I ran my first 5K this past weekend. It was interesting. Its one of those things that I said I've always wanted to do, but just never really cared enough to do the work. So, in light of my self-improvement kick that I've been on the last couple of months. I decided to do it. I decided to dedicate this post those of you who always kinda wanted to do something, anything, no matter how stupid or unattainable it may be. This is how I got off my ass.

First, things first, I am the most lackadaisical mother fucker you will ever meet. I don't give a flying shit about a lot of things. It came from traumatic childhood experiences that went something like this:

Me: Daddy, can I take gymnastics?

Daddy: No, go to school

Me: Daddy, can I take piano?

Daddy: No, go to school.

Me: Daddy, can I take swimming lessons?

Daddy: No, you need to get your math grade up, you got a B. Your taking college level math classes this summer.

Me: I hate my life!

Daddy: I don't care...

You get the idea.

So I had been "exercising" on and off since this summer. When I say "exercising", I mean getting my walk on 3 times a week. It got cold outside, I had to start going to the gym after work. I was on the treadmill bored out of my mind, looking around at all of the white girls sprinting on the treadmill next to me, and I said, "I'm old. Walking ain't getting it anymore". So I looked on the internet for going from couch potato to running, and it said that I could be running a decent amount in a month. I figured what the hell. I also have an ipod, that helps tremendously.

It went from that to, running with a girl who's in the army who drags me to the gym every night, to I wonder if I can run 3 miles, to doing some research on the internet on local 5K's in the area. Here are some bullet points if you ever decide to do this:

* People who run are insane. They have all the expensive gear, they wear coochie shorts in 5 degree weather. They have this look in their eyes , like "I'm going to eat you".

*The 5K's are usually nothing for them. This is just a warm-up for the 2-day marathon that's coming up for next week. Just trying to get those legs loosened up.

*5K run means run, not jog. The winning time was 15 minutes. That's like 4 minutes a mile. I'm not going to say my time, but it was much, much faster than mine.

*This is an event where low standards are necessary. If you try to compete, you will fallout. My goal was to finish, not stop, and not come in last. Three goals that I can happily say I achieved. I tried to get cocky and set a goal time, but that was thrown out around mile 2 when I ran out of breath.

*Honestly, I hate running. But something about it makes you want to keep going. People look at you differently when you tell you run. Next week, I'm going to try and start training for 10K.

So to summarize, if I can run anyone can. For real, any of y'all..You'll be surprised at what you can do if you put your mind to it, blah, blah. Baby steps. And as far my body, in my opinion, it has totally changed and its the only exercise that has truly done that.

If my little inspirational speech doesn't work, maybe this will..

Random Blog Tidbits

A. So Mario Lopez didn't win Dancing with the Stars, huh. I don't even watch the show and I know he should have. Emmitt Smith? He seems like a nice guy and all, but dancing wise a world of no. I know why Mario didn't win though, he's good-looking with a great body and he's a good dancer, so therefore his life is perfect enough already.

B. Attention whore's been giving me the evil eye at work, still. I this had to do with convo she had last week with her cousin (the stupid asshole I'm in love with who doesn't love me who I talk about all the time, for those who are first-timers) about me being a "secret genius" and all. This boy should have a name now since I'm obviously still borderline obsessed with him, so he is now christened Loverboy.

C."Loverboy" was in town this week, and for the first time in long time, I didn't feel like a moron around him. Usually my attitude is something like, "oh my god, I'm so in love with you I can't even function as a human being." Now its somewhere along the lines of, "oh, you're more predictable than I thought, I can handle this now" This was a really big breakthrough for me therapy wise.

D. I don't care about Tom and Katie's wedding. Nor about Britney Spears's divorce. Neither does the rest of the world. So join with me in my boycott.

E. I still hate Jennifer Lopez.

F. And Tyra Banks

G. I now hate Halle Berry now that I know she's a fraud. Bitch has had an assload of plastic surgery, and I can't believe I didn't notice it before.

H. Last but not least, I have a seething hatred for this girl, her name is Paula Patton. She is in the new Denzel Washington movie. She's that type of pretty that you can't be friends because she brings out all your flaws when you stand next to her. And, to top it all off she is married, not fucking, not dating, but married to the for real father of my children, Robin Thicke. Here they are in all of their sickening glory:

The Bi-Yearly Freakout part deux

I am the bionic woman, I am a robot. I can certainly dish it out my fair share of psycho babble bullshit, but now the inside is totally hollow.

I had a heart to heart with my beautician yesterday. I had to impart some of my therapy wisdom on her because she was going through it.

Long story, very, very short. She's a pretty girl, she's also a very nice girl, she's also a very good beautician, as a result she gets a lot of clients. She gets hated on. Very openly, by her co-workers, and others, a lot. I see it. Certain women know what I'm talking about. Women who have little to no female friends. If they do its usually women they have known for a long ass time. Women who have jobs (careers) that make good money, who have ambition to do more. Women who don't have a thousand men calling them on their cell phones, who don't have unecessary drama with the men they are with, and who are perfectly happy in a stable, monogamous relationship. I know who you are, and I feel you.

Once again, it's the shithole that I live in. A lot of women, not all of them, both black and white, have nothing for real going on. Their livelihood is the men that they're with or the men they're trying to get. If they have no men, it's all about being with "family", if it's not the "family", its got something to do with getting more involved in the "church." (Ugh, more about religious hyprocrites later, that's a book).

Also, because its mini-shithole, everybody knows everybody. My male friend's cousin works at my job. She's the attention whole I has previously spoken about. They ran into each other yesterday. Apparently, the consenus around the office (by the females) is that I'm weird.

This didn't piss me off, promise. I just found it really fascinating.

Continuing on with subtext of the conversation, I was told that I don't really say very much. No one really knows that much about my personal business, apparently I'm really good at my job but I keep it a secret, and of course, she doesn't have a boyfriend. Because God knows, if you don't have a man you're a freak of nature.

Keep in mind all the women at my job are "married". By "married", I mean they are legally or common-law bound to trifling men. I have met all of the betrothed several times, except for attention-whore's, and just going by their personalities alone, if was set up on a blind date with any of them, I would have taken a very long trip to the bathroom.

I thought you weren't supposed to tell any of your personal business? I thought you weren't supposed to brag about how smart you are? I also thought you weren't supposed to be with anyone unless you wanted to be? Maybe I'm crazy, I guess this just means I'm not.

Getting back to my beautician, I basically told her that I have had several experiences with women in Tuscaloosa, 9+ years (adding the story about the ghetto fighting work bitch who I had to throw out my car after making a very strong pass at me), and basically they are crazy. Adding, that my own mother hates on me and my sister. It doesn't mean anything except that you're doing something right.

The Bi-Yearly Freakout

Editor's note: I go through this initial freakout maybe about twice a year, and I have probably written this word for word in some form or another, whether it's been spread out through several entries, or one big rant. So, feel free to skip if you've heard it before, or you're just sick of hearing it period.

I cannot believe, I still do not have a fucking boyfriend

I broke up with my ex, my actual fiance ex going on 4.5 years now, and for sure thought by the time I was almost 30 I would at the very least almost be engaged. Or in a long-term relationship. Nope. Nothing. Not even close. There have been (gasp) several dalliances in and out, no pun intended. But nothing even remotely close to stable, nothing, in 4 and a half years.

One of my friends who lives in Tennessee recently got engaged. She deserved to be engaged, she's a really great girl. She got enagaged to a man who supports her, who understands her, and most of all, loves her for who she is.
She's younger than me by about 2 years, and she's one of the more mature people that I know. I am genuinely happy for her, but my inner bitch says, why can't that happen to me?

I know have been carrying on about how I've been working on myself, loving myself, and blah, blah, blah whatever...but one the issues that I have spoken about in my therapy sessions is how every positive thing that I do for myself is in some way or another subconsciously doing it to get a boyfriend. For example, "Ooh, I like football, men like football, men have to like women who like football. Ooh, I run. Some men run, men like women who run." So on and so forth. I've gotten a lot better about it lately. But like I said earlier. The bi-yearly freakout is inevitable.

Yes, I know its where I am. That situation will change soon. But I honestly don't think that this is going away when I move. At the college I went to, out of 23,000 students, there were 900 black people. 500 of them were women. You would think at one point in time or another, at the very least one of the trifling men would trickle down to me...nope. I didn't even have sex until the middle of junior year.

Recently, the first male I had been seeing since my "metamorphisis", didn't have a job (but he was laid off), lived with his mama (I live with my mama, so I can't get mad), and I (begrudgingly admit) did not have a high school diploma. Let me see, what were the good things, again....oh. He was a gentleman, big time. He actually wanted to date me, and I believed he just generally liked being around me. It wasn't until then I at that moment that I thought, that every single solitary male that I have ever dealt with ever, was an asshole.

How did we "break up"? It was my fault honestly. I didn't want to have sex him. I said I would eventually, but I lied, I wouldn't. I'm pretty sure he caught on to that, and moved on accordingly. Its cool. And that's the way it should be.

Yeah, there's going to be a part 2 to this one.