Saturday, October 20, 2007

Slow Your: Roll

I hate kids who wear those effin sneaker skates and the parents who buy them. They be just rolling around the damn stores and ish. Get on my damn nerves. Sit yo big Roll Bounce ass down somewhere.

I saw this one guy in the dollar store trying to get his kids in line, after they'd turned the store into their own personal roller rink. It's too late. No one told your ass to buy them the damn shoes, but you wanna get mad because they use them? I just be waiting for their lil tails to fall and bust they head open.

Apparently it's happening all over the world, but I haven't seen it yet. Got doctors all up in arms cuz these lil bad asses rolling around are breaking their wrists and ankles, dislocating shoulders and cracking skulls and what not. One kid tripped up on a piece of gravel in the driveway, fell and broke several fingers and wrist bones. See no good can come of these shoes.

Whose bright idea was it to make these damn things anyway? There's a REASON why skating rinks are made out of a different material than the regular ass ground.

You already know I'm calling my Congressman to get these shoes off the market. If these damn things are still a craze by the time I have kids, they bet not even think about asking me to buy them. Its bad enough that kids wanna make everywhere they go an instant playground, but you wanna give them a license to do so. No sir ain't happening under my watch. I mean Bush ain't even trying to expand the State Children’s Health Insurance Program, and I'll be damned if I hand over a co-pay cuz you wanted to reenact ATL at Wal-Mart.

Friday, October 12, 2007

Why Don’t You Just: Wax That

I’m weirded out by oddly shaped eyebrows. There I’ve said it. It’s one of the first things I notice about people and the very thing that has me shaking my head in disgust in most cases. There was this chick in undergrad that had eyebrows that didn’t go all the way across her eyes. Every time I saw her in the cafeteria I lost my appetite, which was great when I was dieting, but I shouldn't have been subject to that type of eye molestation. Only thing worse are the phantom eyebrows À la Whoopi Goldberg.

Which brings me to my rant: I cannot understand why people shave them off only to pencil, marker, or tattoo them on in odd shapes. Tattooing on makeup is the worst. I mean I get that it's supposed to be convenient and you never have to worry about doing them again, but a slip of the needle, or inaccurate measurements and you're walking around forever looking like you've seen a ghost. That's enough to make me hand over my $10 for a wax job every few weeks.

But back to the odd shapes. Yes, God made all of us differently, but I’m pretty sure he didn’t design any of us with eyebrows that:

a. grow in a straight line
b. curve down to your nose like Capitan Hook’s metal appendage or
c. look like parentheses trying to bump each other out the way

Having said that, if you are going to reconstruct your eyebrows, remember placement is key. Never should you be walking around looking like you’re in shock all day long. Also be sure that they are at the same level above each eye. Don’t be walkin’ round looking like you are trying to figure out what the Rock is cooking. Please bring (both of) them down a notch. Now on to color. There is no reason to look like you’ve taken a piece of charcoal and smeared it along your brow, when your hair (read weave) is honey blonde. I mean I know you’re not a natural blonde, but this confirms it. Try using a softer brown shade.

This is just one girls plea for you to do your part in making the world a better place. I think I’ll call my local Congressman to see if he can hold a town hall meeting on proper eyebrow arching techniques.

Friday, October 5, 2007

Culinary Delights: I've Got a Knife and Fork Where My Heart Used to Be

Men aren't the only ones who want to come home to dinner on the table. I work hard. Slaving over a keyboard five days a week, chasing down information that people don’t want to give me. When I come home I want to eat a home cooked meal. The problem is I’m so drained that I can barely lift a pot, skillet, or any other cooking apparatus.

So I eat like a broke bachelor: lots of PB&J (reduced fat and sugar free) and cereal (Special K and Curves) and lean pockets—hey I’m also tryna watch my girlish figure. But this has to end. I wants me a cooking man. Forget coming home to a back rub, foot rub, or any other kind of rub (well let’s not go too far here). Still I need a warm meal to help me mellow out.

Back in my collegiate days, I joked that I was going to stake out culinary schools in hopes of accidentallyonpurpose stumbling upon my dream cooking man. The plan was to walk around with my arms full of culinary tools, and conveniently drop them at the feet of potential suitors. Maybe I should have called my local Congressman to see if he could have drafted a subsidy program to help my potential mates go to culinary school. Either way I never made that happen, but that means you’re in luck fellas.

I’m now accepting applications. Here’s a quick breakdown of what I’m looking for:

Culinary artist with at least five years experience specializing in healthful Soul, Italian, and Mexican cuisine. BBQ and grilling skills not required but highly favored. Must be trustworthy as you will be provided with a key to my house, to prepare home cooked meals for me. Attention to detail and excellent time management skills are a must. Ability to work efficiently, facing a daily 7:30 p.m., deadline required.

Send your resume and cover letter to * Please provide samples upon request.

*no actual emails were harmed in the making of this blog.

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

Training Tuesdays: The WMATA Workout Plan

With seven years of metro riding in the Chocolate City urea under my belt, few things surprise or phase me anymore. Not the Asian guy on the blue sometimes red line, singing Jesus's praises in the morning, nor the grown ass man who stuffed an entire double cheeseburger into his mouth and then proceeded to suck his thumb. Dude with a masterlock for an earring--no biggie. That's all commonplace.

But today I was intrigued. The object of my fascination caught my eye at the bus shelter at the Silver Spring Metro Station. (Z11, stand up! No really...ain't no more damn seats on the bus). The vagabond started out, much like the rest of the crazies that I share public transportation with. Cigarette in one of his latex-gloved hands, singing Negro spirituals. But as I continued to watch him (I had 20 minutes till the next bus came, and the batteries in my MP3 player died), I realize that he's--aside from the cigarette, a health conscious nomad.

Decked out in his gym gear (well, really it was jeans, but he was wearing a nike shirt), I realize he's warming up for a workout. He stretches out on the bench inside the bus shelter, and even attempts a few pull ups on the top of the structure. The bus pulls up and he takes off for his jog, leaving his bags behind. I kept craning around to see how long, it would take him to lap around, but the bus pulled off before he made it back to his starting point.

Now, I'm all for getting a good work out in where ever you are, but the metro is THE last place, I'd ever think to try and work up a sweat. Foolish me, I've been wasting my hard earned money at Gold's Gym. Sure they've got all this fancy smancy equipment, treadmills, and elliptical machines gallore, but really I could just save my $37 a month, for all the free stuff at the metro. Thanks Washington Metropolitan Area Transit Authority! I'm gonna call my local Congressman and see if he can get a moving sidewalk installed that can dub as a treadmill.

Monday, October 1, 2007

Trojan (Wo)Man: Mmmmm Hmmmm

I'm a loyal chick, so when my friend asked me what my favorite brand of condom was I quickly rattled off Trojan, and sang the little ditty from the commercials. I'll always heart men who need, and can properly work equipment that goes in, gold wrappers, but I'm also quite fond of the trojans in the bright green pack, the twisted pleasure ones. At the time I couldn't remember the name of them, so of course I googled it and ended up on their fantastical site: TrojanWorld. A few clicks and I'm in unchartered yet fascinating territory.

Imagine my delight, scrolling over all the pretty packages and reading through the descriptions when I come across this: Trojan Vibrating Ring. Not only does this thing vibrate, but like any other penis ring, I can only imagine that it's supposed to prolong erection. They even have double ended vibrating ones. Two for one! Score! And it comes with a condom. Talk about bang for your buck!

Only drawback is that, according to the site, the small battery only lasts for 20 minutes. They should make one, that you can replace the battery in, but I guess they were going for the whole disposable thing. Besides, I don't think, I could get anyone to use one of those, much less get them to stop and switch batteries. They should have used a lithium ion battery, that could've been good for like an hour of tingling fun.

I wonder when these came out, not that I make it a habit of scouring the condom aisle, but I've never seen them in stores. Further investigation of this wonder product, tells me that it's "Available wherever quality TROJAN® Condoms are sold*" except in "Alabama, Colorado, Georgia, Kansas, Louisiana, Mississippi, Texas or Virginia. GREAT! That's where I do all my travel fucking. Hmmm, I wonder if those on the TSA's carry on-approved list? I'm so adding this to my arsenal.

Still it seems strange, because there's gotta be a lot of good loving going on down south, but my girl tells me, in that in the M-I- crooked letter, crooked letter, they've outlawed the sale of anything that stimulates the genitalia. Really, so you're telling me that if I go down to the SIP that I can go down to the local Wal-mart and get guns and ammo, but I can't get a vibrating ring. That's some BULL! I'm glad I live in a "progressive" state.

But apparently, my hometown, Georgia along with Texas and the rest of those states have similar laws. But guess what lobbyists and adult store owners aren't taking it lying down. LMAO (ok...bad pun, but whatever). Seriously, there's a non-profit organization fighting against these laws. They call themselves the National Alliance of Activists and Trade Organization, and they're fighting for our sexual rights.
Join the fight, call your local Congressman today.