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Jamaica Tallawahs Captain, Chris Gayle addresses members of the media at a press conference at the Sir Vivian Richards Cricket Grounds (CPLT20.com)

Jamaica Tallawahs Captain, Chris Gayle addresses members of the media at a press conference at the Sir Vivian Richards Cricket Grounds (CPLT20.com)

I don’t know about you but I think Chris Gayle’s recent comments in response to a question from a reporter at a press conference were totally sexist and disrespectful – And the reporter laughing is at best irrelevant and at worst heartbreaking.

In case you missed it here’s a clip of the comments (within the article)

For those who think she wasn’t offended… So what if she wasn’t? If my boss refers to a female colleague as a bitch and she’s ok with it – HELL NO it doesn’t make it right and he better think twice before he refers to me as one. I for one see that laughter though, as nervousness/I don’t know how to respond/Should I respond?/What are people going to think?/It’s Chris Gayle! I can’t challenge him. Can I?/I’m going to be labeled a feminazi. Or it will be said that I have an agenda/It’s Chris Gayle! The cricket star! So shocked and unconsciously mute now – What comes out instead? Nervous laughter… It’s a coping mechanism. Raise your hand if you’ve never witnessed it or more likely experienced it yourself.

So, yes, Chris needs to apologize – And if enough of us get together, we can make it easy for him to do so or very difficult for him not to. We have unlimited access to sports (and other) journalists online and they are always looking for stories. Well… We need to give them one. At the end of the day, the goal as I see it, is not so much to get Chris to apologize. Yes, we want that to happen and for him to recognize that what he said is unacceptable but I see it more as us preventing others from making similar utterances and understanding that what he said was totally inappropriate. You must think twice before you say stupid shit. We know… Speech is free – But – Consequences will cost you.

I haven’t seen anything about Chris Gayle’s comments on my FB timeline so I will be putting this comment on my timeline. I will also be posting this (what I’ve written here) on my blog. Is there a Twitter hashtag? I know; there are some out there who think hashtag activism is a waste of time and does nothing but I disagree with that notion. At its core it’s an awareness tool which is a big part of activism. So it’s not going to solve the problem on its own but it can make the unknown mainstream and put pressure on people to act.

Don’t even get me started on the CPL statement with their… “Chris’ comments were mere pre-match hijinks and made with no malice intended…” Seriously! Pre-match hijinks! We’re talking about a grown man here, right? And malice…! I really wonder how many people heard that and thought he meant any malice. We thought he meant something more sinister… Just creepy! He was disrespectful, plain and simple. I’m not sure about any of you but I’m deeply troubled that they continue to support him – And – their ill-advised statements make them just as bad.

Here’s an article referring to the CPL statement in The Daily Observer.

This event has many sponsors, who have been decidedly quiet. All of us need to start calling/emailing these establishments/people and let them know that you are horrified that they can continue to support the person who made such sexist comments. I would want to believe those comments he made are in direct conflict with their company’s culture of respect for all individuals – And if it is, they should say so and demand he apologizes and for CPL to retract their absurd “Mad Men era” statement and treat this matter with the seriousness and urgency it requires.

 

I know I’ve been a bit tardy with my posts but in my defense… I do have a lot of stories to tell you but they just sometimes come to me at the worst times when I’m not able to write any of it down. For me to get something out I have to drop everything and just focus on writing or else you’re just going to get crap – And you know that would be a big step down from the literary masterpieces you’ve grown accustomed to.  You’re welcome but no need to thank me it’s the least I can do.

You know that in my posts I’m either pissed-off or funny – But – I’m trying to mellow out because I’m getting older and somehow I never remember the funny stuff after they’ve happened. So in honor of my birthday I’ve decided that moving forward I’m going to work on striking a balance. So, as a part of the process I need to first confess a few things.

1. Ok… Let’s start off with what you know is one of my biggest fears, which is to be seen in faded underwear. I’m happy to confess though that I’m over it. Now, I worry about being taken to the ER in my spanx. Shhh… Sometimes it’s full-body spanx. It will be a couple hundred dollars down the tube if they have to cut it off of me. My mom is to blame for all this nutty behavior. One day I was stripping in front of my mom… SIDE NOTE: Get your damn mind out the gutter cause this ain’t no freak shit.

Back to what I was saying… So I’m taking my clothes off and she shouts out “Oh my God! How much clothes do you have on? Try nuh tek-een dung de road. Translation: I hope you don’t faint/pass-out when you get to where you’re going.” Now I can’t stop worrying. SIDE NOTE: I no longer watch the ER Trauma shows. Now I want everything that happens to me to be a surprise.

2. I think I’m ready to try my hand at being a lawyer or maybe being a cop. I’ve been binge-watching Law & Order all year.  Actually this is not really a confession – Just wanted you to know about the new skills that I’ve acquired. I can spot a perp anywhere.

3. Ok… I’m no longer day-dreaming about quitting my job and cutting coupons so I can appear of TLC’s “Extreme Couponing”. I now realize that I need my job – BUT – I want my own reality show. Who wants to get paid to be my friend on it?

4. I’m way past my annual check-up. Because of my job, I’m having difficulty finding a gynecologist who does not know my name, recognize me or both. So now I’m back to wanting to quit my job. Some background… I went through a lot to trouble seeking out a doc that I’ve never been to before for my last check-up. So, I get there and I’m in plain clothes.  SIDE NOTE: OMG! I tell you I could be a cop… Plain clothes (Not exactly what plain clothes means for me though).

Anyway… I walk into the lobby and immediately think, “Shit! I know all the staff here. Not good.” So I do all the preliminaries – At one point I thought that my blood pressure reading would be off the charts because I’m going a little nut-so hoping that the doc doesn’t walk out, see me, and start a conversation as if they know me. I would have passed out for real – And I wasn’t even wearing any spanx. I know… Totally nut-so.

That didn’t happen and I wait to go into the exam room. So it’s now my turn. The doc introduces himself to me and we exchange some pleasantries then the doc directs me to a room where I can strip… SIDE NOTE: Man! This is the second time I’m talking about stripping in one post. That could be good (suki suki) or bad (still suki suki…?) Back to the story… So I strip and put on a gown. SIDE NOTE: Yes, I think seriously now I want to quit my job because I need to spend some time coming up with a design to replace those gowns. Maybe crotch-less pants or… I don’t know but… If you’ve ever been in one (patient gown) you know what I mean.

So, I get back in the exam room and get up on the bed the doc starts asking me questions about myself, family history etc. At this time I’m still just sitting on the exam bed. Then the doc says to me, “Lie back and put your legs up. SIDE NOTE: The doc is about to go take a look at the best view in the world. 

Still talking to me, I guess in an effort to make me comfortable. So… Pause… Exam for a minute or two then, out of the blue says; “Oh, so you’re Salma Crump!” I was like, “F ME DEN!” To myself, to myself, I said it to myself! Translation: “F ME! Nothing else, that’s it. The word “den” is just our way of vocalizing an exclamation point.

After that it was like my knees had a mind of their own because they were closing like a vice grip. I swear, I was told to relax about ten times after that. There was more talk after that but I would be lying if I told you what it was about. I couldn’t process anything else other than the Queen Victoria Expose which was unfolding right in front of me. And that is; ladies and gentlemen why I’m way past due with my check-up. You see, I just prefer when my doc gets to know Queen Victoria before they get to know Salma Crump. Please… Don’t judge me.

5. When your kids ask for toys; don’t make any assumptions, just check the toys out before you say yes. So, leading up to Christmas Kuba has been asking for the Animaniacs toys. He’s been into this cartoon lately. He would say to me (at least 5 times a day): “Mom, I want the Animaniacs plush toys for Christmas – Yakko Warner, Wakko Warner and the Warner sister Dot.” Yes, my kid is very specific. As it got closer to Christmas I decide to go check out the toys online.

I go to Amazon first. My search returns only one of them. I try all sorts of different searches but still the only one and it was about $45. I’m thinking to myself, “What the hell is wrong with this seller”. Anyway I go to ebay now. I get a few results but not as many as I think and I notice that the prices are along the same lines and some even more than 45 bucks. Then it occurs to me that I haven’t seen a description which says “new” yet. Folks, the toys are collectible items. The three stuffed toys are about to cost us about 150 bucks. What the hell did I get myself into! And it’s just like my kid to want vintage toys. It’s not that we’re opposed to spending this amount – But – on stuffed toys? Aren’t these supposed to sell for like 5 bucks? Now that is a bill I would support. So, the moral of the story is; check out the toys before you say yes. Your pocketbook will thank you. We’re suckers though… We bought the toys. SIDE NOTE: Even PayPal sent me an email after the purchase saying: ‘Come on man… Really!”

6. I’m still eating things (albeit less of it) which had a face prior to hitting my plate.

7. Ok… Never wear black pants or black underwear on planes. Actually stay away from black while traveling. For the second time in my life I bared my ass while traveling. This time it happened after I got off the plane. I take that back. I’m really not sure when it happened. All I know is that Kuba and I had just got off the plane after a long day of travel, numerous lines, escalators, and thousands of people – Only the have my sister greet me in arrivals, give me a hug then say… “Turn around, yuh nuh wan hole in yuh batum?” Translation: “Turn around… You know there’s a hole in your bottom?”

SIDE NOTE: Guys, think about that for a second. This is what we call a double entendre, which, in literary terms means that what she’s just asked me could be interpreted in two ways; especially one having a meaning that is indelicate. And I don’t know about you but I consider all the holes on my body to be very delicate and any reference to them should be done with all sensitivity.

So what do I do? I reach for my ass. Long story short… It had turned into a city with a drug problem.

Imagine the horror. The first thought was Kuba. My only son, who came forth from my loins the one who had traveled with me ALL DAY! By the way, does loin mean vagina or womb? SIDE NOTE: I call Charlton to ask him. He’s like my ghost busters. You know… Who you’re gonna call…

Me: What is loins? Is it my vagina or my womb?

Charlton: Loins… What is this about?

Me: I’m trying to figure out where Kuba came from

Charlton: (silence)

Me: You there?

Charlton: Really?

Me: You know when folks say he came forth from my loins. What do they mean?

Charlton: It’s mine. He came from me

Me: How do you know?

Charlton: That’s what it means. My seed

Me: (silence) – I’m thinking that whatever I say could potentially give this convo new meaning

Me: I thought he came from my loins? So it is my bowels then?

Charlton: Yes

Me: Yes… He came from my bowels? Why does it have to be my bowels?

Charlton: He came from your gut right?

Me: Well… I guess

Charlton: Ok then

Me: So because he came from my gut that means he came from my bowels?

Charlton: I’m pretty sure it’s that but I’ll go research it

Me: I’ll go research too

SIDE NOTE: It’s on like Donkey Kong!

Anyway… Where was I again? Ok, right here… So my ass is ripped. Not “ripped” like “ripped” – I am working on that though – But – “ripped” like the seam broke and it’s “crack city” baby. One sec, back to loins for a minute … If Charlton is right –although I’m still researching, and Kuba came from his loins then I guess my dad’s own was a bit watery. Because if it wasn’t then maybe I would have more (literally… more) of an ass that is “ripped like ripped”. Sorry mom. But you were right when you said that we stood in the “bubby line” too long. Translation: “breast line”.

SIDE NOTE: I know; I have a serious problem with staying on topic. I’m working on it.

So my one and only son who came forth from my loins (yes… whatever… my research is not complete), the one who had traveled with me ALL DAY said not a word! Guys, we literally went up escalators where there were folks behind me whose head was in my direct fart line. And it was “Silent Saturday”… They wouldn’t have seen it coming at all.

SIDE NOTE: My apologies Princess. Everyone, I’m friends with a real Princess and she frowns when I talk about farts. She says it’s not becoming. So I’ve promised her that I will no longer talk about it here. So, from to the ones who are turning up your noses right now but you know you’re a closet fart lover. Here’s one for old times’ sake…

8. I think most people get farts all wrong. Too often they’re misinterpreted. I think they’re just a non-verbal way for you to say; “hey, you’re cool, I like you” or in the case of a stranger a nice “hello there”. I’m about to share something very special with you. Cause you’re my homie. It’s a day-of-the-week calendar that I’m considering printing and sharing with all my friends, which includes you. I know… No need to thank me.

Ok… Here goes the Fartdar.

Monster Mondays: Not what you’re thinking. It’s all noise and no real action

Time Bomb Tuesdays: These just escape like at all the wrong damn times. You let someone in your car; you’re in a full dressing room at Khols with your son the fart police.

Wicked Wednesdays: Run for your life

To Be Named Thursdays: Seriously… These could fit any profile

Funky Fridays: How it affects the senses is anyone’s guess

Like I mentioned Saturday’s are “Silent”: …………………………….. Deadly!

Savor the Sundays: Just let it out man. It’s just a gentle breeze. When it happens your… Hmmm squeeze…

SIDE NOTE: Feeling a bit sad now. Think I just lost a friend. 

9. Ok, I’m no longer going to deny it. I naturally walk like I’m about to kick someone’s ass.  However, I desperately want to learn how to walk sexy. There is no mood-killer worse than walking towards your man doing your sexiest stride and he asks you; “What did I do now? What are you upset about?” Little does he know that it’s because I’m concentrating so hard on walking and wining that my face is all scrunched-up and added to that my arms out at the sides, that I look mad.

10. The one checkup that I was looking forward to most after giving birth was… Ok, wait a second. This is just between us. Ok… What I was looking forward to most was my six week postpartum check-up where my doctor said…

“You’re free to resume sexual activity now.”

Thank you Jesus! I can take off the “Gone on Vacation”, “Extended Leave”, “Laid Off” sign off my vagina. I tell you… It couldn’t have happened soon enough. Any day I would have started to hump Charlton’s leg like a dog. I think I started humming something from Marvin Gaye right in the doctor’s office.

It has become one of Charlton’s “remember when…” moments. To this day when Queen Victoria “acts” dead he says… “Remember when…” 

11. Sometimes I forget how old I am. Someone asked me the other day how old I was going to be on my birthday and I was… “Ahhh… 2014 minus 1977 – Seven from four… You can’t – Go over to the one and borrow one…

I eventually did the all the calculations in my head. Took me only a few minutes. Then I said 37.

Happy birthday me! Was actually a few days ago… I’m working on my timing.

I think it’s still cool to say Happy New Year. Happy New Year to you!

For the past week Kuba has been pretending to arrest me. He’ll walk up behind me and say; “Turn around. Put your hands behind your back. You’re under arrest woman!” Then he would proceed to put on the handcuffs – And as he’s “pretend hand-cuffing me) he’s saying to me; “What are you going to do now… Huh?” Almost every night we go through this. Fast forward to just the other day…

And so it goes (as told by his dad).

Charlton and Kuba are on their way into the city. They get stopped by cops during a random police check-point. Charlton gets out; Kuba stays behind in the car. He’s driving my car and the tint is DARK for days! SIDE NOTE: In case you’re wondering how I get away with such dark tint. Your guess is as good as mine. I went from one day not having any tint – drove like that for over a year – to next day Charlton saying that my seats are going to get sun-damage and I need to  put on some tint. I went from sunlight to blackout in one fell swoop.

Anyway, Charlton is outside talking to the cop. I guess answering the usual questions. Then one of them noticed some movement in the car and asked if there was someone still in there. He told them yes, his son was. So the officer says:

Officer: Ask your son the exit the car

Charlton (opening car door): Kuba, come out of the car

Now; take a guess at what “star-boy” aka Kuba did…

Nope. Not that.

Kuba exited the car with his two hands up in the air.

All professionalism went out the door after that because everyone was laughing out so loud.

Now tell me…

SIDE NOTE: Perhaps we watched too much of the Trayvon Martin coverage. We haven’t even had “the talk” with him.

Hey Mister… Shut up!

I think I’ve had it up to here – Folks; I’m up on a ladder with my hands above my head so I’m right up to my limit – With the rude comments from strangers, friends (although I’m reconsidering this label) or family (unfortunately, I’m stuck with this one). So, please indulge me as I go through a little DIY therapy session and put some things in perspective.

Chief Tormentor

“Wait! Is he retarded or something?” Dear God please help me! I want to drop-kick this man. I’ve watched enough Jet Li movies; I could so do it – BUT – I didn’t. Ladies and gentlemen, I actually responded and said; “He’s autistic.” Somewhere between my mind and my mouth I dropped “you idiot”. I was so pissed!

Parent Expert

For the mom who comes up to me after he has had a meltdown… “You mustn’t let him embarrass you like that in public. You need to put your hand in his bottom.” She waits. I say nothing. She gives me the evil-eye. I continue ignoring her. She looks (disgust) at my son and shakes her head. I’m willing myself not to speak – So afraid of what may come out of my mouth.

Friends, Family and then some

Yes, we do discipline him. However, contrary to what you believe we can’t beat it out of him nor will we attempt to for your sake.

Ms. Tact Less

Did you do something to cause it? WHAT! I just had to walk away from that one.  Whatever made you think you can ask me that? Arrrggghhh!

Showoff

Kuba was babbling up until about four (4) years old. So his speech at times is still not that clear. “He’s too big to be speaking like that.” My response: “No shit Sherlock!” Like really! Do you think that I (a) Don’t already know this, (b) Doing everything that we can to improve it and (c) He wants to improve just as bad. Telling me that you have a 5 year old grandson who speaks VERY WELL because his mom makes sure of it is not advice. It’s just you showing off so… SHUT! UP!

Dr. Know It All

I was watching this program on TV and they were talking about how this gluten-free diet/ABA therapy/freak juice /jumping out of a plane can cure autism. Look… The one thing that I know for sure is that to date there is no cure. Yes, there are therapies that help, but no one thing helps all autistic people.  Take home message; not because you watch it on TV or read it in a book that it’s the gospel.

The Food Police

My kid is a picky eater, plus added to that he has a few food allergies which can sometimes make dining out a challenge. “I don’t know how you put up with how he eats. If he lived with me he would have to eat what I give him.” My response: “You should be happy then.” Tell me again why anyone would want to take this personal.

You know what? Very early I realized that I was going to have to develop some THICK skin and eventually I began to let things just roll off my back – And actually began to look forward to questions from folks because it gave me an opportunity to tell another person about autism and hopefully make them more aware and understanding. But more and more it’s becoming hard for me to keep a civil tongue in my head, especially when others can’t or won’t.

Folks, this is our tender spot here – And you’re making it so hard for us when you come at us this way.

Ahhh… Yes. That high road… Sometimes filled with jerks and meddlers who think they have a right to talk to me as the wish and ask me any intrusive question that pops into their mind. As much as possible I try not to listen to the voice in my head. Imagine that! Not listening to the voice in my head – Thought we were to supposed to listen that one? But for now, with me, it won’t be pretty if that voice takes the lead so I swallow what a part of me so want to give right back to them because I’m going to be the one who regrets it, because I’m the one that knows better. And at the end of the day, I’ve done nothing to inform an uneducated mind. Plus hopefully I’m teaching my son a lesson about advocating for himself.

Again, let me repeat… It’s not EASY for me to do this. When you sometimes want to give someone the “one-finger salute” because words fail you, and it is still illegal to drop-kick someone in a supermarket. Totally kidding – But it means that they have hit a nerve. However for the times that I’ve stopped and talked to someone about autism, nine times out of ten, I think they walk away feeling pretty foolish for the way they spoke to me and there’s been times that some folks have even apologized. And that right there, I can’t tell you how much it means to me.

So the next time you’re in the supermarket and you see a mom with a kid who’s having a meltdown… If you’re 12, go ahead and stare, I’m cool with that. If you’re 41; don’t come over and insist that I spank him, tell me that I’m a bad parent and start talking to the other folks in the aisle about how you would never tolerate that behavior or shout “Is he retarded!” Because when you do that; quiet inside-voice… Quite – He can hear you – And, most days, I couldn’t care less but really and truly, I would rather not expose him to this and have him feel uncomfortable.

You can though, feel free to give me the “I’ve been there smile”, ask if you can help or you can just ignore us. I’m cool with that.

So; are we all on the same page? Awesome! Thanks for listening.

Ok… This story has riled me up to no end…

Probation for Ex-Principal Sex Offender

Is it me or the punishment meted out does not match the seriousness of the crime committed. Yes, all men are created equal but in a civilized society there’s a certain level of trust that’s placed in our educators, pastors etc. There’s an expectation there that they will act in the best interest of our children. When this trust is betrayed in a most vicious way they should be severely punished.

So we’re to assume that he will never do this again – That this was his first offence – That his daughter will suffer if he’s imprisoned because he’s the sole breadwinner for his family. From what I know I think they’re many other breadwinners who are in prison. But what about the kid who didn’t deserve this – Did not ask for this – Did not expect this – Trusted this person. What about all the other parents whose kids were in this school (or who came in contact with this man perhaps at church)? Who are probably now asking their kids; “Has he ever touched you?” and hoping for an honest (although they want to hear “no”) response. What about them? I don’t want to think that I’m the only one who thinks that this is just absolutely outrageous!

He took her into a room – On school premises. Locked the door – Obviously had more in mind than saying hello. Pulled her onto his lap – Started touching her ass and asking her if she knew what sex was. A principal, predatory and opportunistic, did this! To a fourteen year old! PERV! PERV! PERV!

How does an offense like this result in such an unreasonable lenient sentence?

PROBATION MY ASS!

Just saying…

I know it’s been a while and everyone has been asking what’s going on with the blog so since we already know each other I’ll skip the formalities.

So… What does it say about a person who still has underwear from 1996. Still in good condition though. This means that I would be kinda ok with the ER situation I spoke about before – You know – Where they cut your clothes off of you. The only thing though is; the panties are kinda sorta… Ahhh… Above my belly button… Annnd… Covers my entire ass… I mean… ENTIRE A-S-S!

Anyway… The hot doc cutting my clothes off – Sees my panties… I don’t want the first thing that comes to their mind to be “What a *Bingo-Bag!” (Translation: Grandma Panties… I think). I mean… Can you imagine?

Plus Charlton loves cheeks… Yes, those ones too. (LOL)

In my defense though, I had just started working back then and could afford to buy my own Vickies (Victoria Secret) – And those were totally the “it” panties then – You know what I’m talking about. So Don’t Even Pretend…

As a matter of fact, I still sometimes wear some of them. They’re still a part of my tier system. Yes; I totally have a tier system. Tier one is for new ones. Tier two is for anything going on 8 months or so to a year but still in pristine condition. And tier three is for the older stuff like my period, non date-night and it’s-so-not-happening-tonight-panties. There’s one rule I have about tier three though – And that is not to leave the house in them. I would just die, if God forbid I got in a traffic accident or something and a police officer or EMT saw me in one of them. I would just die. Mind you if it’s a tier one I’m going to be upset if they cut it off – And I have already discussed this with Charlton and there are certain instances in which he would be ok with another person taking off my panties and this is one of them. Actually, I think he would want it to be a tier one too :). I wonder if this is something you can put in a will. Hmmm… Oh wait, I can’t, because I’ll be dead before the read it. Hmmm…

1, 2, 3… Let me count the ways one man can *rample-up wan bed aff a wan ly-dung. (Translation: mess-up a bed by just lying on it once). I can lie on the bed and just get up and run my hands over the top to smooth it out and you can never tell I was in it. With Charlton… Noooo – The comforter will be hanging off to one side, a pillowcase may be half way off the pillow, he wants like 4 pillows under his head at once. It’s awful. I want to ban him from the bed sometimes but… Think about it… Can’t be so cruel to myself

Ok… I have a confession to make…

Ten years ago while we were in New York I gave Charlton cabbage sautéed in pork fat – He’s a vegetarian. He ate it all and thought it was sooooo good… Like the best cabbage he’s ever had – And I never told him the truth.

Whew! There. I got it out. I feel better now. That shit has been weighing me down for some strange reason lately. I’ll tell him though; eventually. This will be one of my “old-and-grey” conversations

I swear, it wasn’t intentional. It was my dad’s wife who cooked it. She’s from down South and she cooks like Paula Deen – With butter and butter. I took the food back to the apartment. It was meant for ME but he tasted it and ended up eating all of it. I saw him eating it but it wasn’t registering at the time that it was cooked with pork fat. By the time that dawned on me it was too late. I couldn’t stop him then – He was enjoying it too much. I told myself that I would tell him later that night but I guess I forgot and I’m only now remembering. You believe me right?

A conversation that begins with…

Charlton: I’m going to cut off my balls

Never ends well…

Me: (I’m speechless) – I give him my best “Say what!” look

SIDE NOTE: We’re in the kitchen so he comes to the sink where I’m standing and gives me the; “I just told you that I was going to cut my balls out please say something.”

Me: Why would you want to do that?

Charlton: I was listening to something on the news and they were talking about the life expectancy for men verses women. Long story short… I may just live a little longer without my balls.

Me: What about me?

Charlton: What do you mean – What about you? How is this about you?

Me: What about sex?

Charlton: I’m not talking about sex. When did this conversation turn to sex?

SIDE NOTE: Ladies and gentlemen and the few pets who read this blog… He’s kidding right?

Me: Any conversation with balls has to involve sex

Charlton (He’s giving me the evil-eye): Says who Spin Doctor?

SIDE NOTE: In case you’re wondering who’s Spin Doctor. It’s yours truly – Picked up a few other nicknames since my last post. Spin Doctor is one and the other is Hitler. By the way, when I’m called Hitler, I’m given a salute. I know… I couldn’t make this up if I wanted to.

Me: What am I spinning? No balls mean no sex. It will affect the men on the battle-field. You know that right?

Charlton: Huh? What men? Oh my! I’m just trying to make a point with you – And you’ve gone down a totally different road

SIDE NOTE: By this time we’re out of the kitchen and in bed. Not like that you perv. We’re just talking – But you can’t say that that’s not some totally awesome irony there.

Me: I’m, not going down a different road. I’m still right by the balls where you are

Charlton: *Me tap tark to you buddy(Translation: I’m no longer talking to you)

Me: But you agree that this has a lot to do with sex right?

Charlton: (No response)

Me: That’s it?

Charlton: (Turns his back to me)

Me: Ok, that’s how it is?

Charlton: Yes. Stop talking now

To be continued… 🙂

Moving right along…

If your kid has no filter, don’t take them to the bathroom with you.

Kuba and I go to the movies. About a quarter of the way into the movie I begin to feel the urge… I want to pee. I didn’t want to get up because the cinema was packed and I did not want to lose our seats, plus didn’t want to leave Kuba there alone. Anyway, I sat through it. But everyone knows what happens when you hold it for an extended period. Yep. That… The gentle breeze. LOL

I knew there was going to be a rush to the bathrooms after the movie so I waited for that to pass before going in. When we got in there it was empty. I took Kuba with me.

SIDE NOTE: Is Kuba to old now (he’s 10) for me to take into the ladies room with me?

Anyway I’m in the stall doing my business and it’s one of those flows where you’re thinking; “This is Guinness World Records material”. Or is that just me – Am I the only one who thinks like that? By the way, sorry for the visual (whatever you’re getting) that I just gave you.

Anyway, I’m praying to God no one comes in. I know a fart is on the horizon and it’s one of those ones whose full potential should only be released in private. Or in my case, in the company of my kid who is right outside leaning against the door. As soon as I was done I heard the clicking of a stall door – There was an intruder but it was too late to stop the raging bull about to escape my body. Folks, believe me when I tell you that I was doing all I could to stop it – So much for all those kegel exercises. It was failing me big time. It started coming out in short bursts. And that’s where Kuba comes in. I swear to God he must have Superman hearing.

Kuba: Hey… What’s going on in there?

Me: I’m not answering him. Actually I can’t answer him. I can concentrate on nothing else but trying to keep the lid on this monster – And God help us all if I attempt to utter a word.

Kuba (He’s whispering now and speaking in slow motion for some reason): Moooom, arrre yooou ooook?

I’m trying to hold it in but I’m leaking fast like a used tire. Then it was out. LOUD! REALLY LOUD! I think my knees buckled.

I want to die. Just kill me now.

Kuba (laughing and speaking at the top of his voice): Oh My Gosh! Mom, are you ok?

Me (thinking): No one can identify a fart – But – If I speak, whoever is in here might recognize my voice. So I keep quiet and have evil thoughts of my kid – And pray to God no one else smells this – Dead Dog Alert! Damn! It was fierce! OMG! I’m gonna die from involuntarily ingesting my own fart.

Kuba: Mom, did you fart?

Me (evil woman tone – under my breath): Kuba!

Kuba (laughing): Ewww… Yuck! That’s disgusting!

Me (evil woman tone – under my breath): Kuba!

Then I hear what sounds like the beginning of laughter in another stall – Like the person is trying not to laugh but can’t help themselves. Then I guess they couldn’t hold it in anymore – anywhere else I think they would have been rolling on the floor.  Kuba joins in on the laughter. Then he says…

Kuba: It’s not funny! It’s inappropriate

SIDE NOTE: I usually tell him this because he loves to laugh after he farts – thinks it the funniest thing. So what he’s saying now is from some scripting we’ve done.

This makes the lady in the other stall laugh even more

I’m beginning to stifle a laugh too but I still wish that my kid would just shut up.

I hear the sink running so I assume that the person is now washing their hands. Their phone rings…

Victim: You’re outside? *Bwoy me ha wan juak fuh ghe you see. Yuh guh ded wid laugh*(Translation: Boy, I have a joke to share with you. You’re going to die laughing)

The person eventually leaves. Thank God! I’m finally able to make my exit but not before dousing the place with my Victoria Secret body mist.

I finally exit my safety net and the traitor (aka Kuba) comes up to me and says; “Mom, you made it.”

By the way, I would have died laughing too. I think farts are God’s gift of laughter to the world.

So… What else has been going on with us?

Charlton and I have come up with a secret handshake. We’re still trying to figure out in what scenarios we will use it though.

I was addicted the US Presidential elections. Actually I started tuning in since the Republican primaries but got really into it during the summer. Meaning all politics all the time – Every TV in the house – So I did not miss anything. Kuba would lay in my bed some nights and watch Hardball (Chris Matthews) with me. I’m sure he’s quite the pundit now.

I no longer dream of giving up my career and clipping coupons. I now want to be a medium! Looking for some people to practice on though. So if you’re interested hurry up because Charlton is considering an intervention. Says he’s worried about me. I don’t know what for.

News flash! Any day now I’m going to be thirty-six, which means that I’ll officially be off the calendar. Don’t stop. You read right. Keep reading.

Never walk into a pizza shop for the first time and the cashier has their back turned to you. Let someone else take your spot so you have some time to get used to their face. I recently walked into a pizza shop and the cashier’s back was turned to me – She was talking to one of the chefs. When she turned around to take my order I gripped the counter and said; “Oh my God!” The thing is I didn’t mean for her to hear it. Really… I’m not like that at all. I usually have my shit together. I get shocked like that I usually can scream and do all my facial expressions in my mind. But something happened that day – My brain did not have enough time to compute the shock. If it’s any consolation I felt really bad that she heard. But damn! The man who continues to sell her bleaching cream should be jailed and her eyelash lady should be doing some significant community service.

This is the last year that I will hide in my house from the Jehovah’s Witness people. I mean it! This is it! Come 2014 it is not happening! I will send Kuba out to them instead – LOL. Two of them came by our house and this is how it went down…

I see them coming into my yard so I run to my bedroom to hide. Kuba’s in another room watching TV – It’s too late for me to call him now – I can’t shout, they’re going to hear me and know someone’s home. I hear a knock on the door…

JW: *Inside! Inside! (Translation: It’s a Caribbean thing. I think it means “hello, anyone inside” all wrapped up in one. I never really got it but whatever)

Me: I’m praying Kuba does not betray me

JW: (Knocks on the door again)

SIDE NOTE: I’m crouching down looking out the window (I can see the front of the yard). I’m thinking I’m safe – Kuba can’t hear the knocking. He’s busy watching TV. Unbeknownst to me Kuba was already headed for the door. I hear the door open…

JW: Hi, is your mommy home?

Me (thinking): Just say no. Please Kuba. Do this one for mom

Kuba: My name is Kuba. Nice to meet you

SIDE NOTE: Ahhh… He gets it right on cue. Scripting working well. So proud.

JW: Nice to meet you too. Is your mommy inside?

Kuba: There

SIDE NOTE: I’m sure he’s pointing in the direction of my room.

JW: Can you go and call your mommy for us please?

SIDE NOTE: I’m thinking; “Evil thoughts go away. I love my son. I love my son.”

If he was at least twenty I believe I would have punched him in the face when he opened my door.

Kuba: Mom, come here please

Me (whispering): Not now Kuba

Kuba: Come. Here. Please

SIDE NOTE: Obviously what I’m saying does not please him so he’s sounding urgent.

Me (whispering): Go and close the door

SIDE NOTE: I know, it’s awful and I feel so bad about it – But I didn’t want to send him out there to… What is it called these days? LIE! To my horror Kuba starts pulling me and…

Kuba (pulling me out the room): Moooom. Cooome. Heeere. Pleeease

I’m pulling away from him now. Why is my kid doing this to me!

SIDE NOTE: You would think they would just leave and let me wallow in my shame. By now they must know I’m in the house. My son has obviously made that known with is insistence.

Kuba stops pulling me and walks out the room and I whisper to him; “Not now honey.” I swear to you – That is all I said. Kuba goes out and says to the folks, very politely if that’s possible…

Kuba: Go away

I stare at the bedroom floor looking for the hole for me to jump into hell.

What lesson have I taught my son?

DISCLAIMER: Evil thoughts were real but no one was hurt though. Love my kid too much 🙂 

P.S. I guess things may look bad if I don’t say Happy New Year so… Happy New Year! From my heart of course 🙂

By the way, before you begin to think otherwise let me just tell you now that… I. Can. Ride!

SIDE NOTE: Come on… Get out the gutter guys… Ride a bike I mean. I. Can. Ride. A. Bike! I just forgot how to momentarily.

So… I got a bike and I decide that Kuba and I (along with a friend who’s an avid rider) are going to participate in a “fun-ride”. The thing is, I didn’t go on it for weeks because I knew that I had learned how to ride a bike when I was young-ER. Yes, when I was younger. Whoever forgets how to ride a bike?

Anyway, before I decided that we were going to do the fun-ride my friend had called wanting me to be the “AC on wheels” chaperone. Like what? I can’t ride to?

Anyways… Somehow my bike ended up at my brother’s house and I went there to pick it up for the fun –ride the next day. They have a huge backyard so I decide to get a little warm-up.

I get on the bike and immediately I’m thinking… “This is not good.”

It LOOKS as if I’ve forgotten how to ride. OMG! This is not good.

I’m in my brother’s backyard with Kuba and my niece.

Niece: Auntie I thought you said you were going to a fun-ride tomorrow?

SIDE NOTE: This is the same niece from the nutmeg fame

Me: Yes

Niece: But you can’t ride

Me: Yes I can! I just haven’t been on a bike in a long time that’s all. Just rusty

Niece (Laughing): Mom! Mom! Come see auntie! She’s falling off the bike!

Me: Can I have some privacy please? I think you should go inside

My sister-in-law comes out and there’s me; can’t seem to stay on the bike for two seconds straight. She can’t stop laughing… It’s the funniest thing (to her).

Sister-in-law: Wait… You can’t ride a bike?

Me: I could swear I learned how to ride a long time ago

SIDE NOTE: Now I’m doubting myself – This is insane!

It’s a comedy show outside… I’ve now caused quite a commotion in the backyard.

My older niece looks out the kitchen window…

Niece: Auntie… Those things in front… On the handle bars… They’re called brakes… You’re supposed to use them when you want to stop… Not hop off the bike

She’s family, she’s family, she’s family. Ignore her.

She’s cracking up.

Niece: I have to call grandma and tell her about this

Me (thinking): You’re officially out of my will when I write one. Note to self: Buy lotto ticket

I must have looked like a total ass.

I’m still on the bike… And Kuba is chanting… “Mom, you can do it! You can do it!

SIDE NOTE: I’m thinking to myself… “I remember riding bikes when I was little! I did! Was that memory implanted when I was kidnapped or something? What is going on here? Why can’t I stay on this damn bike?”

Sister-in-law (watching me with a “you’re-gonna-need-surgery-after-this”) look: This doesn’t look good. I don’t think the fun-ride is a good idea

Me (thinking): I’ve told just about everyone I know that I will be riding in the fun-ride. I will not be driving in any bike ride! Note to self: Keep more things to yourself

So; it’s the day of the fun-ride and I’m driving behind a cluster of bikers…

WHATEVER!

P.S. So… Just in case you’re wondering if I’ve been back on the bike….

I did. The following weekend I just told myself… “I’m gonna ride this damn  bike even if it kills me!” I’ll just have to do it real early in the morning though – So the chances of anyone seeing me fall would me minimal.

So I got up at 5AM the Saturday morning and just hopped on the bike. It was a little bit touch-and-go at first but I stayed on and rode for about an hour.

But damn! Someone should have told me…! The pants…! I needed to get the padded ones! OMG! I was saying a silent prayer all the way back home.

“Our Father who art in heaven. Please save the queen. Please save the queen.”

When I got off that bike it took all the grace I had not to walk like “Cowboy X” into the house. “Queen Victoria” was sooooo relieved – Kinda mad looking but relieved no doubt.


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