tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39819409585924609462024-02-18T20:18:03.598-08:00"Treasure Your Mind.""DON'T BELIEVE EVERYTHING YOU THINK"Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-79676752648128070102009-06-26T07:11:00.000-07:002009-06-26T07:18:21.847-07:00THIS IS BAD, REAL BAD. MICHAEL JACKSON<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi11_9xLODWo-4vR7wmVtl-FOXI7_OX8NoJHLIaJWJFVQbPhkD-FOzMGT2bkFQir4jxw0MLEsXaYe9Kmw1XmzyQk60fM-D8U0FhaMqcmEWlZ-dTwKNZbAN1Q-pURSOGXWOPQRqBz4ZZlDs/s1600-h/The+King.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351640127986419090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 269px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi11_9xLODWo-4vR7wmVtl-FOXI7_OX8NoJHLIaJWJFVQbPhkD-FOzMGT2bkFQir4jxw0MLEsXaYe9Kmw1XmzyQk60fM-D8U0FhaMqcmEWlZ-dTwKNZbAN1Q-pURSOGXWOPQRqBz4ZZlDs/s400/The+King.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#3366ff;">REST IN PEACE. WORDS CAN NOT EXPRESS WHAT HE WAS TO MUSIC, TO GENERATIONS OR TO ME. HIS LEGACY LIVES ON THROUGH EVERYONE.</span></strong></div><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#3366ff;"></span></strong></div><br /><div></div>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-31897648114766941392009-06-24T14:05:00.000-07:002009-06-24T14:18:29.575-07:00MONOGAMY IS THE MOST COMMON FORM OF TORTURE.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOQ6e560qLz7skkKg_XH06IAU8EklKvqULKipoL5TZYfSEeeV8BmiohaGhcN6LtERM0VsLawAFHyGILGWIU3MLlBoY-Tav3s_PTza7dbX6Vrpyqx2o0LcauK1CVqtpfQGF6yO58pIA0b8/s1600-h/pepekiss.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5351006391684135378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 135px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOQ6e560qLz7skkKg_XH06IAU8EklKvqULKipoL5TZYfSEeeV8BmiohaGhcN6LtERM0VsLawAFHyGILGWIU3MLlBoY-Tav3s_PTza7dbX6Vrpyqx2o0LcauK1CVqtpfQGF6yO58pIA0b8/s200/pepekiss.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><br /><span style="color:#ff0000;"><strong>Torture</strong> by definition is: The infliction of physical and or emotional punishment.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Okay so for starters, I know that it’s pretty fucked up to say that monogamy is torturous because it is after all the very foundation that a “good” relationship is supposed to be built on; right after blind trust and honesty and all of that other idealistic shit, right?<br />Well I was riding around the city the other night with my girls, just eating red Gummi Bears, laughing at our pitiful attempts to re-tell the jokes we’d just heard at a comedy show at Caroline’s Comedy Club and you know, just enjoying the fuckery of a Saturday night…when eventually the topic of men came up, followed by sex and then relationships… All of my girls, like most people (women in general) seem to agree that monogamy is the greatest thing on the planet!<br />I feel differently. And I’ll tell you why… It’s because I’m a realist. I know and accept that fact that being in a relationship/ having a steady boyfriend or girlfriend does not negate your attraction to others. Sure, when you’re smitten with a certain someone your carnal desires for all others may be numb for a bit, but never paralyzed. We’re all human. A curious species who are both visually and emotionally enticed, by nature. No “one thing” completely satisfies us in any aspect, so why should the person we commit to be the exception? I think that the institution of monogamy is a rather unnatural ritual that we’ve been socially and traditionally coerced into. I mean think about it, you go all your life being attracted to, dating and fucking who you want…You meet someone who makes you happy. They’re a great friend and lover. You fall in love and yada yada yada… Then you’re hit with the “<strong>M</strong>” word. Monogamy. </span><span style="color:#3333ff;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><em>“We’re together, so you can only spend your time with me, spend your money on me, your smiles are for me, I’m your soul mate, so your soul is mine, you love me so your heart is mine, you can only flirt with me, spend long hours on the phone with me, sacrifice for me and most importantly…you can only have sex with me.”<br /></em>All of those new stipulations represent both emotional and physical restriction; AKA punishment. Monogamy is pretty much a self imposed sentence that is served for the duration of your time with a significant other. It’s a sugarcoated deprivation, propagated by love.</span></span></div><br /><div><br /><span style="font-size:130%;color:#3333ff;">Taking things, people or activities that you enjoy away from yourself takes much getting used to and even after you’re <em>‘used to it’</em> , seeing what you’ve weaned yourself off of will sometimes inflict a longing so profuse that it's painful. Some break under the pressure and they cheat or part ways from their significant other. What can I say? It happens; I don’t judge... But I will say that as much shit as I talk, I know that a little bit of <em>“pain”</em> is good for you. I’m paradoxically a glutton for punishment; four years and counting. Currently, yet not always utterly, happily doing my bid.</span> </div>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-87727163564483680672009-06-03T10:12:00.000-07:002009-06-03T10:33:58.893-07:00Dirty Little Secret (the mistress who wants more)<strong><span style="color:#6600cc;">I am his dirty little secret. As for every sex session, I keep it hidden back in the black corners of my mind.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;">Every time we talk it's well past late; whispering the rendezvous point for our next dirty date.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;">I wait for his lady to leave, let the phone ring once, then hang up; we hook up, go down, come up for air, I fix my hair and pretend not to care that he's not mine and in his world I do not exist.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;">I pretend that each secret kiss inches me closer to the granting of the wistful wish that I was more to him than just a piece of ass; more than the meek student in the back of his class with her hand raised toward outer space, silently pleading to replace the woman seen with him in public. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;">I long to be his lady; to spend more than sweaty hours between sheets with him. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;">To begin a conversation that has nothing to do with my thighs parting or me starting to cum.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;">When it's over I say to myself that I'm done. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;">I'll no longer be the one to give pieces of myself, to be an invisible notch on his belt; because I deserve more. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;">I am too wonderful to be muffled behind a closed door. Too great to pour myself until empty and leave no trace of me for true love to find.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;">But I remain blind to reason. Thoughts are merely unwritten treason, because I ignore my advice; scratch it away like hair lice.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;">I keep giving him coochie coupons that are valid in the wee hours of the night, because of the naive hope that one of them might get him to catch feelings, and we might become one instead of two; and I'd no longer do dirty deeds to appease dirty needs; you see the skeleton we've constructed is in my closet and I don't want to keep it. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;">I don't want to be his dirty little secret.</span></strong>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-6838665423771088272009-06-03T09:37:00.000-07:002009-06-03T10:11:52.963-07:00The Other Woman's thoughts (the mistress who doesn't give a damn)<strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">If she be comin then I be leavin, cause I don't be needin no problems. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">See I'm the other woman and I know my place. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">I don't call him if I know she home. Don't get mad after we have sex and he leave me alone.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">I have one objective; to give him pleasure. To make him sweat, to make his toes curl. To let him do all of the things to me that his girl is too conservative to do.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">If she be near, then I be damn near invisible and he be miserable in that missionary position that seems to be a given whenever she give it up.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">It's just his luck that he found a freak like me. A fine ass bi-sexual, who's impractical when it comes to sex. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">I know the Kama Sutra like the back of my hand or like a poem I wrote. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">I'm a deep throat, so I can take all of him in at once; far enough so that his balls are touchin my chin, so that if you looked you wouldn't know where he end and I begin.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">If she mean everything to him then nothing matters to me; with the exception of how many times I can make him cum during one of our secret sex sessions. </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">As far as confessions go, none will ever pour from me; cause personally I feel like they're overrated. And if I let one loose then I won't be compensated with his sex any longer. It seems as if the stronger he says his love is for her, the harder he fucks me, so either way it goes, it benefits me.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">I know my lack of discretion is enough enough to make you sick, but I fuck enough to make me orgasmicly rich.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">None of those stereotypical standards will ever stick; cause yeah I'm givin up good pussy, but not without gettin good dick.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">No feelings.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">No love.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">Emotions and a trick don't mix.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">He be just another faceless dick.</span></strong>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-14151648295333247852009-04-17T09:34:00.001-07:002009-04-17T09:42:11.206-07:00Follow Me.<div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#330099;"><strong>Twitter.com/Treas</strong></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNFIq888J3Y5rhLP2vIeTun2ZFZqxpJEv5_Gjj2IMdKkBI7xJ72BiayNHlsiLhrfhMGtTZr_ES156IsVOwpn3vjd0d-LHE9G4BS-PJGwh66l7HitomxtFbuRKyJayLmAP8EU10wrdsNCA/s1600-h/girly+girl.jpg"></a><span style="font-size:130%;color:#330099;"><strong>ure_Boxx</strong></span></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNFIq888J3Y5rhLP2vIeTun2ZFZqxpJEv5_Gjj2IMdKkBI7xJ72BiayNHlsiLhrfhMGtTZr_ES156IsVOwpn3vjd0d-LHE9G4BS-PJGwh66l7HitomxtFbuRKyJayLmAP8EU10wrdsNCA/s1600-h/girly+girl.jpg">I'd appreciate it...Followers keep me from "tweetin' to myself" lol<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325700419852418274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNFIq888J3Y5rhLP2vIeTun2ZFZqxpJEv5_Gjj2IMdKkBI7xJ72BiayNHlsiLhrfhMGtTZr_ES156IsVOwpn3vjd0d-LHE9G4BS-PJGwh66l7HitomxtFbuRKyJayLmAP8EU10wrdsNCA/s320/girly+girl.jpg" border="0" /></a> </div>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-4200560367871099022009-04-16T12:06:00.000-07:002009-04-16T12:16:29.980-07:00Love's Philosophy.<div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;"></span></strong></div><div align="left"><strong><em><span style="color:#333399;">This is one of my favorite poems...was introduced to it my sophmore yr in college...(Thanks professor Clark)...Anyway, It ran accross my mind so I decided to post it for anyone who cares to read it...I'm feelin it today; enjoy!</span></em></strong></div><div align="left"><strong><em><span style="color:#333399;"></span></em></strong> </div><div align="left"><strong><em><span style="color:#333399;"></span></em></strong> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;"></span></strong></div><div align="center"><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;">Love's Philosophy</span></strong> by <span style="color:#6600cc;">Percy Bysshe Shelley</span><br /></div><strong><span style="color:#330099;">The fountains mingle with the river And the rivers with the ocean,</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330099;">The winds of Heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion;</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330099;">Nothing in the world is single,All things by a law divine In one spirit meet and mingle - </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330099;">Why not I with thine?</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330099;"></span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330099;">See the mountains kiss high Heaven And the waves clasp one another;</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330099;">No sister-flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330099;">And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea - </span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330099;">What are all these kissings worth If thou kiss not me?</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#330099;"></span></strong><br /><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#ff99ff;"></span></em></strong>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-63695315329231732302009-02-25T18:31:00.000-08:002009-02-25T20:05:54.122-08:00Some Dick<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD8Cxpe7gn6TkYrqtRzV1jJsch0_zQIuYG2hT5FFxbG-GXFHmhNrBLiFnL6R88vb4_ExFg7ihAkHmUuotbByUQMoJJVF5kEaKMh1n0j9j0vQdirGLeNdIWoNuSsYacc8ZwZNH5gpI594E/s1600-h/S7300103.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5306939658745268050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 134px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD8Cxpe7gn6TkYrqtRzV1jJsch0_zQIuYG2hT5FFxbG-GXFHmhNrBLiFnL6R88vb4_ExFg7ihAkHmUuotbByUQMoJJVF5kEaKMh1n0j9j0vQdirGLeNdIWoNuSsYacc8ZwZNH5gpI594E/s200/S7300103.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><br /><strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">Okay so you look at me and you see a respectable, pretty young lady. Prim and proper with my legs crossed; I don’t even stand out much. I could be lost in a crowd. All the while I want to scream out loud that “I JUST WANT SOME DICK!” Some Mandingo warrior, king ding-a-ling, that’ll make me scream out in ecstasy “FUCK ME HARDER!” I harbor this feeling more than California residents harbor Mexican immigrants. I want a man to get all up in it, a feeling that no amount of masturbation or dirty conversation can. I am so tired of using my hand. It doesn’t hit that spot. It’s not sufficient and it isn’t thoroughly satisfying. I want some dick that’ll have me crying from pleasure and a little bit of pain because I like that shit. I want some dick so bad I can taste it. And I’m not selfish, so I would taste it; but only if I could be certain that my skills wouldn’t be wasted on a two minute nigga’. Too many niggas say what they gon’ do, but when the panties come down they don’t come through. They just come quick; and then they have that stupid look on their face and I’m stuck with this space between my thighs throbbing, pulsating, while passion is fading and his dick is deflating from prematurely ejaculating. I want some dick. Some dick that’ll fill me to capacity and have me reaching for shit that ain’t even there. Some dick so good I’ll be begging a nigga to pull my hair, even though I just got it done. I want some dick that’ll put me to sleep before I get a chance to wrap my shit so it’ll look good in the morning. I want some dick that’ll have me cooking eggs, biscuits and grits in the morning. Some dick that’ll have me feeling like I been out whoring; even though I haven’t ‘cause I don’t get down like that, but is it so wrong to want some dick that I can feel in my heart when he hittin it from the back? And no, not for real, like in the physical sense; cause that would hurt and probably cause some internal bleeding; but what I mean is that sometimes I be needing some dick that makes me want to moan out “I love you” instead of “That was coo’, thanks for coming through; but don’t call me. I’ll text you.” I want some dick and I want it to be attached to a man who can kiss me like the elixir for life is in my tongue. I want some dick that’ll make me cum and not just get me wet; because yes, there is a difference! Only men out there who’ve hit it right can decipher the feelin’. Only they can tell when I’m not fakin’; when my right leg is reeeeeaaalllly shakin’. Incoherent words and moist moans melt from my mouth to his. I want some dick and don’t trip, I’m into the sensual love making and all that romantic foreplay shit; but I’m also a fan of fucking and freaking with my feet up in the air. And sometimes…well sometimes I just want to be licked like a stamp. Laid on my back and placed on a pedestal of pleasure so high that no mathematical tool can measure. I want some dick, and I don’t think I should have to feel bad about it; because good dick eases the mind. Good dick makes up for lost time. Good dick is the reason these hips know how to slow wind and grind till I get mine. I want some dick from a man who has rhythm. I want more than the back and forth motion cause that just doesn’t get it. I want to feel it in my thoughts when I’m daydreaming at work or in class. I want some dick that’ll fatten my ass, put a pep in my step and a switch in my stride. I want some dick that makes me feel like I died, went to heaven and then came back just to ride it again! I want some dick that’ll make me curse out my closest friend, like “Bitch you’re just jealous cause I’m gettin it in!” I want some dick that’s been tested for H.I.V., herpes, gonorrhea, warts and syphilis, cause I need some dick that won’t leave me burning or feeling sick and shit, ‘cause I’m yearning but I have my limit. All I want is some dick. No attachments or emotional hang up; just a sexual hook up that’ll give my skin that radiant “I just got some” glow. I want some dick with no stipulations or trials and tribulations. I want some dick so good that my pussy says “Congratulations! You have reached multiple orgasm” I want some dick that’ll make me spasm and wonder whether I’m cumming or having a seizure; some dick I can get when I’m busy or on my leisure. I want some available dick; the new and improved, scarcely yet professionally used, thick, juicy, put it on me papi tool, tantric dick; and I want it now.</span></strong> </div>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-82698281176380064512009-02-13T13:24:00.000-08:002009-02-13T13:27:51.653-08:00All Black Affair<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLIry8Fx12UGI2GnmzOwXREUPWBRFm0lagdhlWJDDiT1Dj6xJHpY9T3PTpwtHoHLCCDaQXkCgMC6hSV2PtppnG3D1Dax29EEjc7Wj8J-c0pPRSUW89EVwOHZC1_BOB7jfn9JJW5yQClzY/s1600-h/Terri+and+Treasure.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5302396676204957202" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 245px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 338px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLIry8Fx12UGI2GnmzOwXREUPWBRFm0lagdhlWJDDiT1Dj6xJHpY9T3PTpwtHoHLCCDaQXkCgMC6hSV2PtppnG3D1Dax29EEjc7Wj8J-c0pPRSUW89EVwOHZC1_BOB7jfn9JJW5yQClzY/s320/Terri+and+Treasure.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;">Ummm Yeah...don't really have much to say about this... Just wanted to show off the dress. Holla!</span></strong></div><br /><div></div>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-71177864091769375222008-12-12T11:31:00.000-08:002008-12-12T11:40:25.541-08:00Friends. How many of us have them...Friends. Ones you can depend on...<strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">I love my friends; even with all the random ass drama they come with...For every petty argument that we've ever had, we share at least 20 laughs and hugs and comforting words in times of need and that's priceless...These women are more than friends. The emotional and social battle scars endured have made them my sisters now. ...Anyway ignore that random ass white guy in the picture. lol He just approached us and asked if he could take a picture with us...Believe it or not that happens quite often, so we didn't mind. lol</span></strong><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278988688052146818" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 369px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 252px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyb5LH-SHCv33V_g6DN0haU8YyDFvdyBDwopnhFY0jPZWJAT5p2nLeXl0IkgU3FqkLkvsTm79jUYUacNeOKgjWkoriozLnkkrX9svKOWlBWFCQSQ49KDrYMtohWF5zkuErNpYV6m2XOzc/s320/Paris.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div></div>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-70047017276711053332008-11-18T16:00:00.000-08:002008-11-18T16:07:50.177-08:00She Got It From Her Mama<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhDX9svNGJ32R1_cl0iU4VsYdeTR7XtgQUWUq-LqSB0DTphN15LQl46zKDQ8xLBeNknHBbYE2PqIHKMIol1QcEWCbT_Cnek-5sQCkQapBU7P6p1S4ucZ8Fl2COSGA2TVPjKeYJv1qSbmw/s1600-h/S7300392.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270153398568328242" style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhDX9svNGJ32R1_cl0iU4VsYdeTR7XtgQUWUq-LqSB0DTphN15LQl46zKDQ8xLBeNknHBbYE2PqIHKMIol1QcEWCbT_Cnek-5sQCkQapBU7P6p1S4ucZ8Fl2COSGA2TVPjKeYJv1qSbmw/s320/S7300392.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><strong>Hung out with and had lunch with my mom...I miss her already... Hopefully I can get out to Cali again in December. It would be nice to at least spend Christmas with her and my big head brothers.</strong></div><br /><div></div>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-67447139808105580572008-11-14T08:43:00.000-08:002008-11-14T10:03:11.554-08:00So Proud Of You...<strong><span style="color:#000099;">This post is just a short one to mention how proud I am of my friend Nick Young...</span></strong> <div><div><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Someone asked me about him yesterday. They wanted to know what Nick was like in high school; and it made me smile to be able to honestly say that he was and still is a very fun and easygoing guy....I had to admit that like most teenage boys he was also extremely immature and that was annoying at times. LOL. But he was just one of those people that made going to school fun.</span></strong></div><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGVk2mX1rAR-3EXKQj0DYqyMD2hK7rnxbLvTVNPIWktdDVS9HaTX5RUDA16Nzo3DcvvR1MdMSF9basgRStDaadkJqWzvsFNRy6eEojxAZSL5FQFusyFHK-SR1eWHRgGvFXnzRRDtRlOiA/s1600-h/Nick+Young.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268563414221032818" style="WIDTH: 270px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGVk2mX1rAR-3EXKQj0DYqyMD2hK7rnxbLvTVNPIWktdDVS9HaTX5RUDA16Nzo3DcvvR1MdMSF9basgRStDaadkJqWzvsFNRy6eEojxAZSL5FQFusyFHK-SR1eWHRgGvFXnzRRDtRlOiA/s320/Nick+Young.jpg" border="0" /></a></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><strong>Most people now</strong> <strong>know him as a member of the Washington Wizards. I am sooooo super duper proud of him for making it to the NBA; that was his dream and he worked hard to get there. There were times when his goal seemed unattainable due to academic circumstances and other personal issues he was struggling with off the court/ outside of school, but he never gave up on himself or let it alter his spirits. That is commendable....I am proud that Nick stayed humble, never forgets where he came from and I am elated to see him growing and maturing as a player. He has alot to offer the league and his talents will impress fans; just give him time...he's dope! ( LOL, yes I am bringin' back that old school slang)</strong></div><br /><div><strong></strong></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrO6VMNzdZObybLKSuz_-TZuhLtHmPVzNJU3bdYB6xgto44y9RgskTkuFj3YzDo3xhH0ryPXskJYo0LBYQnDl9Q4tA2ZqM3nUGQeKQKL5lM3pm4365dUqNLGQhlUDJFPGqrn1YFONc8Ao/s1600-h/Serious+Nick.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268575146214825890" style="WIDTH: 228px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 250px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrO6VMNzdZObybLKSuz_-TZuhLtHmPVzNJU3bdYB6xgto44y9RgskTkuFj3YzDo3xhH0ryPXskJYo0LBYQnDl9Q4tA2ZqM3nUGQeKQKL5lM3pm4365dUqNLGQhlUDJFPGqrn1YFONc8Ao/s320/Serious+Nick.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div></div>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-1432454606159145262008-11-05T07:27:00.000-08:002008-11-05T07:37:52.646-08:00YES WE DID!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWpImTr_2XU-w9pjmH6dONPbcyMtkgaWg7B0Cma5nN6vCOeKrCbitixAKvDsmbiD7F5oD3R9IYEBoqQdAMT-RLX6dqe1cigjckw4xbxt9kxL_wHIxagjZbdS9-txUk16BiaIBqeg4usRI/s1600-h/Obama.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265195834698945458" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 253px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWpImTr_2XU-w9pjmH6dONPbcyMtkgaWg7B0Cma5nN6vCOeKrCbitixAKvDsmbiD7F5oD3R9IYEBoqQdAMT-RLX6dqe1cigjckw4xbxt9kxL_wHIxagjZbdS9-txUk16BiaIBqeg4usRI/s320/Obama.jpg" border="0" /></a> <strong><span style="color:#6600cc;">I am so overwhelmed at the outcome of the election that I keep crying tears of joy.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#6600cc;">I never thought that I would see the day that a strong, intelligent, compassionate Black man would be the president of the United States. I don't even have the words to fully express my emotions. I am so proud and I believe in democracy again. Obama said "Yes we can." ...Together WE DID!</span></strong><br /><p><strong><span style="color:#330099;">We don't need 40 acres and a mule when we have 50 states and the white house.</span></strong></p>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-45540664619960661672008-10-20T12:56:00.000-07:002008-10-20T13:22:56.014-07:00Are you serious!?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoL9wc5NNMx-fVcb0rjHFIOYLpm76LEYf1jDdMUqBHj0uBG20LVDC2xjZHLWbpC9pmCP_1jtqPEmyLgD1M4fWTuURBG8BYyc-E2PoF59mlglIra0cKbwKUEd2RivutJZgfUeSNMgN85sE/s1600-h/NO.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5259327932703526674" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoL9wc5NNMx-fVcb0rjHFIOYLpm76LEYf1jDdMUqBHj0uBG20LVDC2xjZHLWbpC9pmCP_1jtqPEmyLgD1M4fWTuURBG8BYyc-E2PoF59mlglIra0cKbwKUEd2RivutJZgfUeSNMgN85sE/s320/NO.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">After the incident in the nail salon in Brooklyn on Friday, I have concluded that this is the sign that should be blown up and posted on the window and main entrance of the salon..."See what had happened was" lol, I was waiting for my turn to get my eyebrows done. The place was pretty quiet; until some guy walks in. The guy was young. Appeared to be in his early to late 20's. He was well dressed..Okay not "well dressed"; let me rephrase... he had on the usual 'hood attire'. Timberland boots, overpriced jeans and a graphic hoodie with random, loud designs and words on it. I think it was Christian Audigier...Anyway so the guy comes in and I noticed that he had a box in his hand. I figured he was just selling something, like most random men who drop in the salon during business hours are. They either try to sell you bootleg DVD's and CD's or perfume. None of which were items that I was interested in purchasing, so I glanced at him for about 3 seconds before I proceeded to aimlessly flip through the four month old issue of Vogue magazine that was in my lap....But this guy was not selling anything. the box in his hand was empty. He was just begging! and do you know what he said?!...he was like: <span style="font-size:180%;">"Can anybody help me out with a dollar or some change; I'm trying to get a bag of weed."</span></span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">*sigh* This guy was dead ass serious!</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">There is just so much that I could say about this incident, but you know what...It was really just another day, battling the slings and arrows of outrageous mothafuckas in Brooklyn.</span></strong></div><div><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;"></span></strong> </div><div><strong><span style="color:#cc33cc;">*SMH*</span></strong></div>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-36781205132910391312008-10-18T11:17:00.000-07:002008-10-18T11:26:48.480-07:00Happy Almost Halloween<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzAH2RlFfisz5JdyVkeDaz0Hs_293G99BZMc4zyvI_sPGgMw2nnsIEZ2nnkdHM6W1dSr4NN3W916D6E9jjvTqRa0nqH9eKvnDzRoRvzlHFs_5nnQLPi9HMZPo1TsEWmAGmXwY25cc3mvA/s1600-h/S7300370.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5258562038966628530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzAH2RlFfisz5JdyVkeDaz0Hs_293G99BZMc4zyvI_sPGgMw2nnsIEZ2nnkdHM6W1dSr4NN3W916D6E9jjvTqRa0nqH9eKvnDzRoRvzlHFs_5nnQLPi9HMZPo1TsEWmAGmXwY25cc3mvA/s400/S7300370.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYcSD3tXFx_BRJUwjY-Gtj3N82Nr_aTe3oll_56vUPaxmEFbL-DJKHY6l8RsSO_qTpY_D4WcSxz8w8tYNDEFwA0tLcz0Sf3jFcim_28gnl13Aai8L7b5N8vbGZQbCeL5HJc-KtX7ELvhE/s1600-h/S7300362.JPG"></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW-8ZqEFgrBkwH4JkNJ8mTaiJ_hkSZojS4Gdly-ee3-4GXOmChdhiQsFzYDtXWYzOgtPjCxmRC5mhDULGkfb58-D6mJDdVCq85lA5sneIbfHW9JlADUtFZTv2PSHOQEpcCgEPsRFJ79E8/s1600-h/S7300370.JPG"></a><br /><br /><br /><div><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">I love Halloween...the whole process of picking a costume and stocking up on candy to pass out to the little freeloadin' kids is great....I think you're never too old to enjoy the festivities...So in honor of my excitement about the upcoming day, I've posted a pic of me in one of my fave costumes... CLEOPATRA!</span></strong></div></div></div>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-8756429349952589382008-10-16T10:17:00.000-07:002008-10-16T11:04:53.599-07:00Thoughts on an excerpt...<em>As Trish answered, I found myself discreetly taking in her impressive features. She stood about five foot eight; her flawless skin was the same color as rich cocoa beans and so smooth that it looked more like a sheet of dark brown silk poured over flesh than it did mere skin. Her deep, dark eyes were surrounded by lashes so long that they could have been stolen from mascara commercial. Her eyebrows were thin in shape, arched to perfection by some Korean who’d mastered the craft. Trish obviously had a weave, but it too was sheer perfection; the long, black strands floated down her back and stopped a few inches before her curvy waistline, making her look like a sun kissed Egyptian queen. After silently concluding that she was a gorgeous woman, I noted that I was still better looking than Trish in some ways. Why we women do this, I will never fully understand; <strong><span style="color:#ff0000;">we compare ourselves, constantly judge one another and then we develop insecurities that fuel the process of tearing each other down. I was wondering if men do the same thing...</span></strong></em><br /><strong><em><span style="color:#ff0000;"></span></em></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#3333ff;">Okay so that was an excerpt from a novel...While the storyline and characters are ficticious, the soul of the issues in the book are all too real... I couldn't help but to spend a little additional time thinking about the part of the excerpt that I highlighted in red though... I strongly believe that women tend to do that more than men. If you are a woman reading this, what do you think? If you are a man, do you or other men that you know do this? What do do you think about women doing that?</span></strong>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-5128290320168342452008-10-01T08:19:00.000-07:002008-10-01T08:27:25.000-07:00Procession Line Pimpin'.<strong><span style="color:#000099;">Okay so I was out jogging the other day, but I got tired after a little over a half hour or so into it and therefore decided to just walk through the rest of my little workout until I caught my breath…So I’m walkin’ and I hear a car horn blowing. At first I didn’t look because I figured that as usual it was probably just some guy trying to holla’ at me…The culprit was persistent though; kept honking. So I glance over, prepared to just roll my eyes and then wave the guy off because I am not drive through pussy! Ain’t nothin’ worse than a guy trying to get at you from the window of his car, like you’re a damn combo meal at a fast food joint… So anyway when I turned to face the street, I was appalled to see that the guy who was desperately trying to get my attention was driving a hearse; leading a funeral procession!<br />That is so disrespectful on so many levels. Granted the deceased couldn’t see or hear this man trying to make a love connection on his way to the grave site, but I’m sure the family could… *Sigh* hopefully they were too grief-stricken to realize that the driver was procession line pimpin’. </span></strong>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-83582739383652183372008-09-18T11:45:00.000-07:002008-09-18T11:52:41.812-07:00The PAIN...The HORROR...The HUMANITY!!!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdJob5EksqlE-mx2qTM2IJXEE1_V1n-tE2lrAu-1ASqg-a0cyhHZELsFjR17yOPTer3kDlhi-mLHi_-nMT9J3K75T4fD0g1G1JmwLEOXEmsGOPerjYne3xFkfLp2tBg_Ope2optxTN4A4/s1600-h/BartOnDrugs.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247436067691288898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdJob5EksqlE-mx2qTM2IJXEE1_V1n-tE2lrAu-1ASqg-a0cyhHZELsFjR17yOPTer3kDlhi-mLHi_-nMT9J3K75T4fD0g1G1JmwLEOXEmsGOPerjYne3xFkfLp2tBg_Ope2optxTN4A4/s320/BartOnDrugs.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;">Got my wisdom tooth pulled today...the one on the bottom...far left side of jaw.</span></div><div><span style="font-size:130%;color:#6600cc;"> OUCH!!!!!!!!!!</span></div>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-5170921571501393442008-09-15T07:53:00.000-07:002008-09-15T09:10:23.850-07:00Chivalry is DEAD!<strong><span style="color:#000099;">Found out today that someone shot Chivalry with a desert eagle, slit his throat and then left him drowning in a puddle of his own blood...</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Sure I've brushed off many subtle clues as to his death in the past...You know, a "failed hold the door for a lady" here; and a "take my seat on the crowded subway,obviously old as dirt woman" there, but I shook those things off. I thought maybe Chivalry was taking a sick day; but he certainly couldn't be dead.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">WRONG!!! He is as dead as Ma$e's rap career. Let me tell you how it became apparent to me...</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Today I saw a man shove a pregnant woman so hard that she stumbled; just so that he could get inside of the doors to the Chase bank first... As I was helping the woman get her balance, the same man managed to step on my foot, and did not say "sorry" or anything on his mad dash to the teller...Upon finding out that the window he was headed toward was closed, the man then proceeded to hurry past and get in front of an elderly man using a walker. The old guy was slowly but surely making his way to the next available window, but he never stood a chance.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;">Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Chivalry is dead.</span></strong><br /><strong><span style="color:#000099;"></span></strong>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-9373370774717838812008-09-08T13:19:00.001-07:002008-09-08T13:50:19.046-07:00UPDATE (What Should I do?)<strong><span style="color:#330099;">So I caved. I told my friend about my brother...Guess what happened? This trick told me that I was lying and she thinks that I'm just jealous. She said that I had been "hating" on her hooking up with my brother before he even came to visit. (mind you she used a number of curse words and invectives while saying this to me) Can you imagine the look on my face when she was saying this? I ended up having to laugh; because that was all I could do to keep from slapping her pregnant ass! And I'm not a violent person. That just isn't me...Wasn't raised like that...Fighting is primitive and to my credit, I have never been in a physical altercation in all my days on this Earth and I don't plan to ever be...Anyway; after cursing me out, she told me that she was going to tell my brother the "joyous" news and that there was nothing that I could do about it. I said "I didn't tell you all of that in hopes that you would refrain from telling him, you little Jezebel! I told you so that you could brace yourself for his reaction, which I assure you will be derived from the things you don't know about his <em>actual</em> life!" <br />She wasn't trying to hear me though. It is always so funny to me when I try to warn these broads about my brother and they don't believe me because they think that I'm suffering from sort form of sibling rivalry. worse is when they think I'm telling them because I'm jealous of the fornication infested facade that they have going with him. To that I say "Oh fuckin' Please!" I could expostulate further but it's not worth it...Anyway I have washed my hands of the situation...Two tears in a bucket, fuck it, fuck her and four people who look like her! </span></strong>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-2747171822604761542008-09-07T09:20:00.000-07:002008-09-07T09:39:07.184-07:00I'm Not Hungry Right Now.<span style="color:#3333ff;"><br />You are food for my soul; but I’m not hungry right now.<br />My heart is full on your conversation and kisses.<br />Tired of your taste lingering on my tongue, tickling my sense.<br />It’s made me thirsty and you can’t quench this.<br />I’m craving a new, wet drink to wash you down with.<br />Today I won’t be coming back for seconds; even though your food is always hot.<br />I’ve got a hankering for a tall drink of water that will swim down my throat, splash in my stomach then course through my veins.<br />After while hunger pains may make me dizzy ‘cause you won’t be in me; but that’s okay because I want to miss you.<br />Want my mouth to water when I see or smell you. Don’t you miss the succulence of the first bite? The pleasure derived from pressure when I sink my teeth into you?<br />I used to swallow you; but now I just push you around on my plate.<br />Wrap you up. Once fresh, now cold leftovers.<br />I’m not hungry right now; but this doesn’t mean that I’ll never eat again.<br />Doesn’t mean that I’ll never take you into my mouth again or let you feel my taste buds on your texture.<br />You’ll always be my favorite because you’re so filling; but that’s what’s got me feeling full.<br />Lost my appetite.<br />Don’t want a bite or a morsel of you.<br />For now I’ve finished you.<br />Insatiable sweet tooth is ready for dessert.<br />Some sticky, sugary syrup that I can suck off my fingertips.<br />It’s got to be savory to get in me and make me forget that you are the first thing on my lips; going straight to my hips and thighs. Morning, noon and night, in proper portions all the time.<br />My personal I HOP; 24 hours, no wait in line.<br />Oh hell, maybe I’ll just eat you and drink him at the same time.</span>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-5545410725779425412008-09-04T09:22:00.000-07:002008-09-04T09:23:37.372-07:00What Should I Do?<span style="color:#6600cc;">What Should I Do? Okay here's the thing, I have an older brother. He's not that much older than I am. There is a yr and 9 month age difference between us. Because we are so close in age, we hang out a lot when I'm visiting the westcoast (he lives in LA)...In fact he and I have always been close. We went to the same schools for most of our lives and have a ton of mutual friends...Anyway my brother is what women consider to be fine, hot, attractive, charismatic, sexy, etc... (I don't see it lol) but anyway my closest girlfriends all have or have had a thing for him at some point or another and he has fucked ALL of them! As you can imagine, his rendevous with my friends have created some problems for me over the years. Anyway as the years progressed (he conquered/ had his fill of my girls) but when I moved to New York for college (and my girls went to other states to do the same) those types of problems subsided...Since then all has been well within my circle of friends....BUT last month my brother came to Brooklyn to pay me a visit...While he was here he met and had sex with another good friend of mine. I went to college/ shared a few classes with this particular female and I've come to value her place in my life over the past 4 1/2 yrs that I've known her...Anyway the problem is she got pregnant...My brother went back to LA...he doesn't know yet; and considering the fact that he is ENGAGED to a lovely young lady back in California AND he has a child with her!! I don't think he is going to want to know...Hell, I don't want to know what I know. My friend here in NY has no idea that my brother is in a relationship back in Cali. She is aware that he had a child but my brother mislead her...She thinks he is single. What should I do? I don't want to not be loyal to my brother by blowing up his spot; but at the same time I don't want my girlfriend to be in this situation blind; which she is at this point. My friend asked me not to tell my brother the news, as she wants to be the one to break it to him. She only told me because she wanted to know how I thought he'd react when she told him. (can you imagine what was running through my head?) This is such a mess there is no way that I'm going to come out of this without someone being upset with me; which is really fucked up because I'm not the one who was lying or cheating or having sex with anyone! I've always told my friends to stay away from my brother, to no avail...It was kind of funny and cute when we were younger, but now things are more serious. There are babies involved!<br /></span>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-36867563119724881972008-09-02T17:51:00.005-07:002008-09-04T08:09:24.167-07:00What the hell?<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjieEt_urLRLAVOF8IsvfnZ-XyZOAYXICxi93jNUwcZNH_YF2zJNVuKxIv_0SmTqJqGljTIxaM_uuahyETLwvpiAK4GGIZ2OmOeeuWD9RqSjA_yhMC6x811pUXIRbgsQ0CSCbVpHZ4XUUg/s1600-h/bootybite.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242183455618278386" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjieEt_urLRLAVOF8IsvfnZ-XyZOAYXICxi93jNUwcZNH_YF2zJNVuKxIv_0SmTqJqGljTIxaM_uuahyETLwvpiAK4GGIZ2OmOeeuWD9RqSjA_yhMC6x811pUXIRbgsQ0CSCbVpHZ4XUUg/s320/bootybite.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>This is random...But I thought I'd share...Okay I don't know why it is, but I am super jinxed when it comes to drive throughs/ fast food joints...I am sooo over it...And actually I prefer to cook; but like so many other working class Americans, I only have an hour lunch break while at work and most of the time I work through more than half of it, so I'm forced to rely on the pound packing fast food chains...Anyway I went to McDonalds and I ask the chick at the counter for a 20 piece Mcnugget meal...I know what you're thinking... (that I don't need 20 damn nuggets!) lol but I skipped breakfast and I knew that my firm would have me working late on this Bloomberg case so I was going hard; lol...okay so I asked her for it and she says: "We don't have the 20 piece. We only have the 10 piece."<br />WTF!? If you're not annoyed or perturbed by this, then you're as slow as the chick behind the counter. LOL.</div>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-10588509141110686002008-08-28T10:54:00.000-07:002008-08-28T12:15:04.093-07:00Drive through.<span style="color:#330099;">Okay I’ve come to the conclusion that one of the most time consuming, annoying, suck the patience and tranquility from your soul, like a good vacuum sucks crumbs off of a rug, things is : PULLING UP TO A FAST FOOD DRIVE THROUGH WITH MY MOTHER!<br />I love my mom. I feel like I should type that right off the bat because of the nature of this blog entry and the height of my annoyance with her when I think about this topic may contort my language and emotions, causing you to think otherwise. Now, with that disclaimer out of the way let me tell you what happened…<br />I was out in LA. It was a beautiful afternoon. I was driving. My mom and I were coming from church….Okay I have to interrupt myself to insert this: You know that a person or situation has tested you and worked your last nerve when you’re so mad that you’re cursing like a sailor and pissed off to the highest point of ‘pissedivity’, if there is such a thing, after having left church no more than 20 minutes prior!.. Anyway back to what happened. Like I was saying we had just left church and I was feeling great. We were both crazy hungry though because, the church we attend seems like the service starts at 10am on Sunday morning and doesn’t let out until 2 o’clock the following Tuesday! Especially when the old folks choir is singing (which they were) because they make a simple hymn stretch like a tiny rubber band on a fat person’s wrist; and the pastor (bless his heart) can get really animated to say the least. But it’s a predominately Black church; so that’s just how it is and how it has always been. I’m not hating…I’m just saying. Lol…The things that I love about Sunday service at a Black church are also the things that get on my nerves about it some of the time. I wouldn’t trade the experience though…Anyway I’ve gotten off subject, let me get back…So me and my mom were hungry, but we had already started driving. We were on the 405 freeway… I’m not sure if any of you are familiar with this interstate, but bumper to bumper traffic on this particular slab of concrete is a given. The worst part about it is that I, for the life of me can’t figure out why other drivers speed up only to get in front of me and drive two miles per hour. I also hate the jerks who refuse to let me over when all I’m trying to do is get off the damn freeway; it’s like they want me to be stuck in the madness with them. They’re so hell-bent on not letting anyone get in front of them, even tough they're not going anywhere because traffic has been and will continue to move at a snail's pace, that they end up pissing me off enough not to let the next poor driver over. It's a vicious circle and I'm seriously starting to believe that the government hires these bad drivers just to make me mad or late or both; depending on the situation… Anyway we decided to get off the freeway and go to a drive through so that we could get something to eat and get back to the house quickly; fine that’s simple enough, right? WRONG! Because<br />my mom has no respect for combos! I mean the good people at McDonald’s created the numerically labeled combos for our convenience, not so that we could dissect them until they no longer resemble the original meal!!!<br />So we’re at the drive through…it took us forever to finally get to the intercom. There were about 5 cars ahead of us; probably being held up by some other indecisive patron who doesn’t respect combos….When we FINALLY got our turn, the employee says “Hold on!” Straight like that. No “Hi, welcome to McDonalds; can you please hold on a moment.” The heifer just said “Hold on.” And then when she was ready she says: “What you want?” RUDE!!! But anyway…<br />I said “I’d like a # 7 with a sprite please.” And then I looked over to my mom, asked her what she wanted and she goes “I don’t know yet.” She then proceeded to study the menu. At that point I was like “Oh my God am I being punked?!” I mean there are 2 huge reasons why my mom should have already known what she wanted to order.<br />#1: It’s freaking McDonalds! Everyone in the free world pretty much knows the menu by heart. It hasn’t changed much in 20 some odd years… Everything on the menu pretty much tastes the same anyway so in hindsight it doesn’t even matter what you order.<br />#2: There was a long line of cars ahead of us. She had ample time to decide what she wanted before we pulled up.<br />After a 2 minute time lapse my mom said that she wanted a #5 Sounds simple, right? WRONG! Because she proceeded to make absurd changes to the combo. This is what she said:<br />“Give me a #5 but can you put it on the bread that the #7 is on? And I want the mayonnaise on the side; no lettuce…Wait I do want lettuce but only a little bit and extra pickles.” Then the employee says something along the lines of<br />“It doesn’t have pickles on it.” So my mom goes<br />“Well which combo has pickles on it?”<br />The rude heifer taking our order says “Hold on.” And then the car directly behind us started honking. That annoyed me but at the same time I couldn’t blame the guy. The lady gets back on the intercom and starts telling us which combos have pickles. My mom listens to all and then she says. “No, I don’t want any of those. Just add Pickles to the order that I already placed.”<br />I was too through at this point!<br />The lady starts repeating our order only to have my mom interject with more changes to her combo that is not even a combo anymore; it’s now some personalized monstrosity that includes some of everything on the menu, with extra freaking pickles! …We drive up to the first window. Now keep in mind that this is the window where you’re supposed to pay; you pick up your food at the second window. My mom decides that she wants something else though when we’re at the first window. She wants an apple pie. The pie throws off our total. The lady had to reconfigure and of course tell us to “hold on” yet again. Our total came to $12.82. As I was handing the lady a $20 bill my mom stops me and says “Wait Treasure, I have the 82 cents.”<br />I really don’t care about giving or getting back exact change at this point. I just want my damn # 7; but my mom insists. It took her exactly 49 seconds to locate the loose change in the bottom of her purse. How do I know it took 49 seconds? Because I counted each scrutinizing second under my breath as I shook my head in utter frustration.<br />At the second window they gave us our food…I pulled off…Mom looks in the bag<br />“They didn’t give us enough napkins Treasure.” She exclaimed. “Turn around so I can go in and grab some more.”<br />I’m thinking “You gotta’ be kidding me.” I said “No, we’ll work it out mom; don’t trip on the napkins. We got to a red light and I asked her to give me some fries. She said<br />“Oh they must have messed your order up. There’s only one carton of fries in here and those are mine.” Woe is me. All I wanted was a #7. </span>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-9300185554919706232008-08-25T07:36:00.000-07:002008-08-25T08:15:44.716-07:00The # 2 Train.I wrote this poem during a train ride to class, my freshman year in college... So its an old poem. Everyone loves it to this day though... Anyway, since I've retired it (won't be reciting it during open mic shows anymore) I've decided to post it for those of you who get all nostalgic and feel urged to read it on your own....Enjoy!<br /><br />He's beautiful. Expression hardened by Brooklyn's madness. A streak of sadness and anger dwell on the corners of his full lips.<br />Its his demanor that stirs me. He sits so close to me on the #2 train, but its plain to see that he's somewhwere else. Somewhere far.<br />Not really on his way to a destination unknown to me, but probably completely gone already.<br />A fitted cap covers his hair and its decorated with the letters N and Y and I'm wondering why I lie to myself like I ain't salivatin' everytime I coincidentally catch his eye, why I can't get up the nerve to ask him his name, on this train, underground, I found this young man who appears to be... Everything I never knew I always wanted.<br />Well I want him now. I want him like kids want candy, Like a beach is sandy, like a baby wants milk.<br />I want to lay him on sheets of silk and touch his heart and suck his lips and rub his skin and put him out and in and out and in and out and in and out and in and then... Well then I want to switch positions and do it again.<br />I want to know how he got that small scar on his chin; but I don't want it to go away cause he's perfect in his imperfection.<br />Viewer discretion would like have to be advised cause I'd place him between my thighs and ride him 'till his knees get weak and he can't speak.<br />He'd be as speechless as I am, sitting across from him at this very moment.<br />The way his jeans sag seem to be coreographed in rhythm with his untied Timbs and scarred and bruised limbs that have been kissed by the streets. Consequently he's tough, like Brooklyn.<br />Lookin like the urban warrior he is; this boy is gorgeous. Presence is enormous, yet common enough to be overlooked.<br />A fish on his line, I remain hooked to the way his sideburns blend with his goatee, placed so perfectly on his brown skin, can't tell where his begins but I'm sure I don't want it to end.<br />I want to thank his daddy for not pullin out, cause his fine ass takes the words right out of my mouth.<br />I wish I had the courage to seize this moment. Own it. Control it and contort it into a true fantasy; instead of just this wistfull wish that he'd acknowledge me.<br />He's sitting right accross from me. I'm in his view but he's blind to me.<br />Unaware that he only need say the word and I'd crawl there on knees that were bare.<br />He's ruggedly soft with sensations of truth. He's a man and a youth. He's fly, hot , hood, fresh, a beast, hell at least a 9 on a scale of 1 to 10.<br />He's the end to a long day that has yet to begin.<br />He's salty sweat spilled from a hard day's work.<br />He's love poetry's core epitome.<br />He's....he's ...<br />He's getting off at the next stop...and he didn't even notice me.Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3981940958592460946.post-79819142855222657402008-08-23T00:36:00.000-07:002008-08-23T16:42:36.381-07:00First Order of business<strong>Okay so this is my first blog. I have to admit that I never thought that I’d succumb to blogging; but now that I’m on the proverbial bandwagon with the rest of you who keep public electronic diaries , I hope I enjoy the experience… I’m not looking for anything special…I know there’s no prize involved, lol. I just have to admit that the idea of my words/ thoughts/ experiences and etc. reaching others on such a broad scale is intriguing… We’ll see how this goes.</strong>Treasurehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03053718506416410619noreply@blogger.com1