That Awkward Moment When … #678

24 animated GIF


The following takes place between 1:54PM and 1:55PM.

You’ve been informed of layoffs at your job.

And you don’t know if you’re next.

One of your supervisors, who has just fired one person, and is on the way to terminate another, sees your solemn face.

Something, for some reason, motivates them to say

“Why aren’t you smiling?”


robert downey jr animated GIF


no animated GIF

WTF am I supposed to smile about?



What Do You Do When…

Your friend insists on wearing a costume, that is, more than likely, a new degree of racist?

And you don’t have the heart to tell them that they are being racist because

a) they think that you’re being OVERLY sensitive



b) they think you’re being condescending to their (lack of) cultural intelligence.



You tell them that the party is cancelled and go alone.

Hello? Is It Me You’re Looking For?

Don’t judge me. This format I’m using is not too friendly towards punctuation outside of periods, question marks, and exclamation marks.


Greetings, my friends….

I apologize for the lack of posts. I’m currently dealing with an incredibly shitty job and twatting about Fall Television (priorities).

Just to get it out of the way, you should be watching:


The Blacklist

Sleepy Hollow

Brooklyn Nine-Nine

The Goldbergs

Trophy Wife (isn’t bad…)

Hello, Ladies

The Millers

The Crazy Ones


Life has been not interesting as of late, but frustrating. I flubbed another screenwriting competition (yay) and I’ve no time to even audition for shows I’d really REALLY love to do. My commute is 2h30 total each day. I work late nights. Work weekends. The extra money I make goes to fuel, so I don’t have the funds to really do anything. Not to mention by the time I actually reach home, it’s time to be in bed and be ready for work in the a.m. And I’ve got back problems.

Can’t you tell that I’m over it?


Also, I’m tired of dealing with people. That aren’t my friends, family, or otherwise generally cool. Basically.

So, yes. This is me. Backhanded compliments. Open ended insults. It sucks. I’m kind of at a loss right now.

Particularly, when you have people insult your ethnic background because they are disgusted with your legal name (I will have a post about that experience later), or they think that they can treat you any which way they can because of your skin tone. Or they ask you when MLK day is because the only Negro is supposed to know. That’s not fun.

So fall television is taking the pain away. That, and a healthy amount of wine (kidding. I’m too broke to even drink Franzia! The individual boxes!!!!!!!).

Besides that, I’m continuing the grind and working. Hoping for a new gig soon…again.

There’s the update. I will be back with more entertaining (read: torturous work stories and scathing observations of popular culture) soon.

The Only Thing That Helps Me Pass The Time Away, Is Knowing I’ll Be Back At Echo Beach Someday…


Are you mad?

I hope not. I know, I’ve abandoned you (the one person that reads this blog — two if you count my other sister — and if there are more than who I think reads it — yes, that includes you, too — Yay. Welcome back. Feel free to leave comments).

The past two months have not been full of adventure or anything grandiose. So, there goes my excuse for my absence. It’s all been challenging, introspective, and just mighty frustrating. Thank God for gummi bears because these little fellas have been getting me through (I can’t afford booze. Well, the fancy kind that comes in a box with a spout).

I started a new job that has its own set of challenges that I thought I would have escaped (at least temporarily) from the ones that were emotionally and mentally plaguing at my previous job. Now, it’s just fresh dramz that I never expected.

It’s to the extent where two co-workers are not talking to each other because of an issue that deals with coupon hoarding.



It’s like Team (insert name here) or Team (insert name here). And people are trying to mark territory on the new girl (that’s me).

I didn’t sign up for this. Well, I did — but you know what I mean.

Not to mention my commute is an hour (both ways) — so the extra money I am making is now being spent on fuel.

And then there’s the people. THE PEOPLE. The rude ass people that think I’m their personal assistant. A personal assistant who is not on any kind of monetary retainer that is associated with them.

Then there’s the Rain Prancer.

You read that correctly. Rain Prancer. He offered to do a rain dance for me…when it was raining. He is also blind, but manages to ride a bike and assault cars with his cane to those that aren’t “sharing the road” .

He looks at dirty pictures of himself on Facebook, but doesn’t know how to print.

Remember how I said he was blind?


This is my life.

On top of that, a very close family member passed away, and yes — that godforsaken trial in Sanford, Florida did take an emotional toll. So much so that I lost two people who I considered friends over it. Maybe more, but they haven’t said anything (to my face — as yet) that rings to the sentiment that every black person in this world gets what they deserve because of how they “are.”


I was told that.

So while I was supposed to be writing my godfather’s eulogy, I was dealing with people telling me that I wasn’t worth shit, and I deserve the treatment and the discrimination that happens because of the fault of others.

That’s like me saying I am given the right to hate every white person in the world because of the racism that I’ve encountered. Oh, and because there are white people in the KKK. So that’s your fault and I hate you for it. But I don’t. Because I know not everyone white person in this world is racist.

However, all black people in America are thugs, rapists, murderers, and thieves.

Each and everyone one of us down to our core.

So, needless to say, I’ve not had the mood to blog. However, I am hoping that will change soon.

On my hour drive home today, I heard one of my favorite songs.

When I first heard it, though I was only in my early teens, I knew that I’d experience this feeling and this life for a time in my life. I just never thought it would be as long as it has been. And now, this is my life. I’m not sure how I feel about that.

From 9 to 5 I have to spend my time at work.

My job is very boring, I’m an office clerk.

The only thing that helps me pass the time away,

Is knowing I’ll be back at Echo Beach someday.

However, I have no Echo Beach. However, I’m expecting my Echo Beach to be more than a beach and a memory, which is a fruition, realization, an actualization of my goals. My dreams. Happiness.

If it feels like a permanent vacation, then I know I’m doing the right thing.

I hope that comes true.

*ha. Posted the wrong link earlier. Though I will be posting The Dead Milkmen at some point in the future.

Don Juan De-Failure

After my brief stint at the branch I was transferred to, I thought that I was going to be safe from the usual McCreepsters and Fauxtharios that try to — well, not court me — but whatever the opposite of courting is, that’s what they’re doing.

It’s a family oriented community, with a heavily immigrant population, so many of them, again, are tight-knit families that hold on to the their culture in this strange and confusing nation that is known as the United States.

WELL, of course, SOMEONE had to prove me wrong.

Of course it wasn't Joseph Gordon-Levitt. If it was, I wouldn't be complaining. I'm sure i could at least carry on a conversation with him. His age is also not creeptastic.

Of course it wasn’t Joseph Gordon-Levitt. If it was, I wouldn’t be complaining. I’m sure i could at least carry on a conversation with him. His age is also not creeptastic.

He came in a couple of weeks ago, and I could tell he was eye-screwing me from my seat that sits nary a four feet off the ground (no cleavage that day, so I’m not sure what he may have caught that sparked interest). He said some things that alarmed me that I’ve since blocked out, but one part of his behaviour that I DID notice was him trying to make his balls drop further than God will allow by making his voice sextra deep and smooth. Yes, I just thought of sextra, because that is how hard he was trying. I thought he was going to choke (damn!). He tried to use his card and had a massive fine. Didn’t seem like he wanted to pay, so I thought that he finally left and I’d never see him again.

Wrong’em Boyo!

Yesterday, he comes straight to me (fuck!) and wants to pay up his fine. I pull up his account and announce the amount he owes. He gladly pays for it. I process the transaction at the register, and print out his receipt.

“You forgot something”

*Insert black woman’s vocal crescendo here*

Telling ME how to do MY JOB?

“No, I did not.”

(third testicle drops) “You forgot to put your number on the back of this so I can take you for lunch.”


FIRST of all, this is not a Schliz Malt Liquor Commercial, nor is it 1987 (though sometimes I wish it would be…). It’s 20EFFIN13! If you’re going to hit on someone that is younger than you, and very much clearly not your age —  at least try some new shit. Not something that I would hear on some craptastical “Up All Night” flick on USA from the 80s and 90s.


I don’t know how I got away with watching that. Duckman, maybe?

DISCLAIMER: The following re-enactment of the remaining event can only be explained by the Divine Ms. Retta (aka Donna Meagle on Parks and Rec)




“I’m good, thanks”

(those are both of my responses. This is not an exaggeration)

Keep that shit for people in your age group, bruh!

And what happened to people trying to get to know you first before agreeing to meet them for dinner? Ask me my name. Where I’m from. General information that you can use to stalk me on Google or Facebook. But please, don’t just assume that I’d want to attend or accompany you to dinner because you were able to whip out 50 plus dollars casually to PAY A DEBT. The beauty of that invitation will only be swooned over if I’ve developed something mutual after having spoken with you for more than 10 seconds.

Now, I’m not opposed to dating someone who is older than me. HOWEVER, if you look like you could have attended primary school with my parents (neither my mother of father have aged…) then maybe we shouldn’t be talking.

I know people say that you attract what you put out there, but I don’t understand how I get hit on by Billy Dee Williams’ bastard son, a lost child of the Manson Family who drives around a mini-van (but has no kids!), Thugs.  Just Thugs. Guys who are two years younger than me and consider me an “older woman”, and you know, people who don’t have any future plans, but expect me to take care of them. Oh, and the one that has to tell me EVERY.TIME. that I remind him of his baby’s mama. If that’s the case, get back with her! And stop bringing in your kid so that I can see how much we DON’T resemble each other. Kthanx.

How me, as a working woman, trying to do better, not lacking in a sharp amount of intelligence (and can always use more…), who speaks eloquently despite the amalgamation of accents (Guyanese, Grenadian, Queens, Southern – blame my parents), a bohemian spirit that mixes funk, punk, and class in my wardrobe and way of life. Yet, I have all of these Fauxtharios lusting after me? I had someone tell me recently that when they see me, they know what they’re getting…so they don’t understand why I attract the individuals that I do, or why I haven’t attracted anyone at all.

Me either.

Yes, I may be endowed in the rear and bust, and — apparently killer legs (?) — until the mosquitoes ravage them, among other places, but I look healthy and don’t show it off. What is it that brings me the most undesirable and delusional individuals? Why do they believe I am busting at the seams with an unstoppable desire to be whisked away in their windowless (but well decorated interior. It has cable. No, I haven’t considered it) child abduction van to spend a lifetime together?

How can I escape this? Do I start dressing like a whore to averse the effects?

Or I guess I will just wait until the one shows up…whoever that may be. But hurry up, whoever it is. I need kids to drop off to mum and dad to keep ’em occupado.

Quality applicants only.

That Awkward Moment When…#323

When someone is preparing food to serve, and they stop and talk to you.

During that conversation, you cannot help but stop breathing and tensing your entire body up because you notice something.

You notice a lonely piece of dried snot wafting in and out of that nostril, begging for escape amongst the cilia that keeps it trapped, never wanting to let it go. You want it to be freed, but not on the food, and not in your mouth. So you keep it shut and just nod “yes”, “no” pursing your lips “mhmmm!” – careful to not aggravate it with any sudden movement so that any part of THAT being doesn’t become a new inhabitant of YOUR being.

Not listening to anything your partner is saying, they almost leave to start re-preparing the food and utensils. You stop them and warn them of the possible infraction that could make or brake a meal.

The Flight of the Boogerator (Like Flight of the Navigator. Work with me, folks)

Embarrassed, they clean their nose (not in the restroom! AHHH!!!!!! – but at least they used tissue). Didn’t see or hear handwashing.

Later food was offered. All I could think of was how many more might have escaped before I caught that one trying to?

Though, I do feel proud. I saved many lives that day. Including my own.

Which reminds me…

Yes, this was an actual candy that was sold the children.

WHO THE FARK thought that this was a great idea? Boogers candy? The one thing that Nickelodeon got wrong when picking up advertisers. The announcer (on Guts, Legends of Hidden Temple, whichever one…) advertised this, I always turned. Just nasty. He sounded like a guy from Jersey trying to give you a hard sell on some hot property that he knows is no good and has to push in a 24 hours before his life is over.

Whose Cornrow …or Braid… Game Is Worse?

Hello, world! Here I am.

I know, I’ve been absent. Dealing with deadlines and quitting a job.

Yes, I quit my job. Don’t worry, I have another one lined up. But this is the first time I ever quit a job in my life (unless you count that high school musical senior year. That was one of the worst experiences ever in my life. And I’ve auditioned for Tyler Perry! Okay, on second thought, maybe it wasn’t so bad…the musical, not the Tyler Perry audition).

I have tomorrow off, and I am getting my hair braided. I’ve never been to this woman. I found her on Craigslist (it was a suggestion! I know, I don’t like where this story could potentially lead, either…but I’m a broke writer/actor/public servant). But she is a legit owner and I’ve met her at her salon. I really hope that she does a great job, if she doesn’t, I don’t want to end up looking like this:


looks like his hairline has spent most of its life living in a gangster’s paradise

So, I realized I haven’t done a “Whose _________ Game Is Worse?” post in quite a while. Thank you, Craigslist, for the inspiration.

And now…Whose Cornrow Game is Worse?


Axl Rose


Edward Norton


Joe Manganiello