If I wasn't why wud I say I am?

I am: possibly a genius, possibly bi-polar, not-caring about that, not willing to see a doctor for it either, in a committed relationship, a college student, determined, petrified of rodents and insects, even butterflies, sarcastic

I love: celebrities, singing (because I'm so horrible), corn, guys with locks, my boyfi, my niece, shrimp, babies, colors, ignorance, netflix, other people's drama, Black people, Asian people, Beenie Man, Pharrell, skinny guys, making love to music, P.F. Changs, confident men

I hate: when homeless people beg, lame kids who don't make me laugh, PWT, working, idiots, mushrooms, rock and roll, that I like country music, olives, stupid questions (and there is a such thing), the smell of the ghetto, small talk, when white people sweat and thier hair sticks to their forehead, chicken heads, deadbeat dads, the smell of tomato juice, Courtney Love, squirrels

Love Tones

I'd love my boyfi to recite like Lorenz Tate in Love Jones, but I settle for Ring Tones. Lately I define my boyfi’s love for me by my assigned cellular melody. For a while, he had R. Kelly and Twista, “So Sexy” as my ringtone. Pretty bizarre. I mean I love to shop (but not downtown), I have my "own car and crib honey". So in some ways it applies. Occasionally, I “like to keep the D up inside” me. But is that all he can think of? And should it be common knowledge? I mean your friends and family should not hear “and this is for the girls who be riding”, right before you answer my calls. Somehow, it is still kinda flattering. Anyway, now I'm some Jadakiss and Mariah Carey song, which I know nothing about. I like Jadakiss but *barfing* not Mariah "sexual overtures" Carey. I guess perception is everything. If I was my boyfriend, I would have “Prototype” as my ringtone for myself. That just got confusing. Oh yeah, and being the semi-stalker that I am, I monitor the ring tones of all of his callers. Particularly the female bit- I mean - friends.

Great Expectations

I bought a new magazine last night. The premiere issue of Suede. It's pretty decent. Some interesting stuff, some bizarre art. I scratched off some game pieces in the magazine and went online today to see if I won. I didn't. I was disappointed because I had a feeling I would win these earrings. It's weird how you expect things so much that they become real in your eyes. I saw myself in those earrings. Something told me that I would win them. I often expect too much. The other day, I found out a 18 y/o friend of mine is pregnant. I was so sad and I said "I thought you were going to college and you wanted to do this and that and ...". She's happy though, she thinks it's a blessing. Plus, she reminded me that she never said she was even going to college. I guess that we saw different things for her future. By the way, why do people think God would bless them for fornication. *God speaks* "You had unprotected sex outside of marriage and so as a direct result, I am going to bless you". NOT! Back to me and my plans for everyone else. Formulating scenarios in my head, is a really bad habit. When I call my boyfriend, I've already mapped out what I'll say and then what he'll say. When it doesn't go as planned, I feel like I don't know him. Sometimes, my feeling are hurt because I'd imagined he'd say something really sweet and he doesn't. Oh yeah, Suede,; I was kinda pissed that when you visit the website you can get this premiere issue, that I paid for, for free. Since I didn't win the earrings, could I at least get my $3.50 back? It feels good though having a magazine for young, black females. So I won't complain.

A Woman's Worth

Ouch! Hot! HOT!!!, My damn thigh is on fire. Slowly but surely, money burns a hole in my damn pocket. I get paid on Thursday and by Saturday, I am seriously, honestly, and literally dead broke. I am a spend-a-holic. Like 112, and Janet Jackson, I can do it anywhere. The mall, the gas station, bills, online. It does not matter. The only thing that matters is that I spend money. My closet, with it's 50+ pairs of shoes and about 30 purses, should coincide with a decent savings account. That is a negative, and so is my checking account sometimes. I am sickened by the amount of "stuff" that I have. I could just throw-up every time I think of how much savings, investments and college funds, my wardrobe is worth. I've read the books on saving and investing, like "Smart Women Finish Rich", but to no avail. I still choose to spend. Obviously, I am shopping for something deeper. Hopefully, whatever my soul is browsing for, is worth what I've been spending.

Being paid to be played....

I finally see where prostitutes are coming from. "If you gon' do it anyway, you may as well get paid for it." Right? Don't get me wrong, there will be no $5 sucky sucky. The only action that is taking place around here is affirmative action. Being a black woman is cake, getting paid for it, is the icing. It's hard to believe people are actually willing to pay me just to be me. See, I have this job. At first, I thought wow, I qualified. Congratulations me. Now I see that I qualified for an even more important job than I thought - the quota. My job description- come, be counted. Some days, it's like damn, I should be doing more around here. But the next thought is always why? Maybe this is reparations. Maybe I deserve to come here, be expected to do nothing and collect a nice bi-weekly pay check plus benefits. I can't figure out who's playing who. Am I being played by a billion dollar company that could care less about my qualifications as long as I stay black. Or, am I a mastermind who's playing this same company because regardless of how much they pay me I'm still black. Plus, if they ever expect me to do something I can actually do it.

1 Corinthians 7:9

"But if they cannot contain, let them marry: for it is better to marry than to burn with lust".

Taking this verse at face value, me and my boyfi should get married because I love to make good love to him. We've been like wild passionate rabbits for 4 years. A few months ago though, I decided that we should stop having sex until we get married. See, I 'm saved now. But this weekend he came home from school and something went wrong-but it felt right. We had sex 4 times. 4 really good times. I missed him so much that I ripped his clothes off as soon as I could. He jokes that I "treat him like he's the ho in this relationship". Whatever. One time, after I was saved, we had sex. That time, I felt so bad that I cried myself to sleep. This time I didn't. I still don't feel bad. I don't know what's gotten into me. I'm thinking the memories of how good he felt are keeping me from feeling guilty. I'm new at this "saved" thing and I'm doing my best. I need to repent and I will soon. In the meantime, we really need to get married.