tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65789246073630942622024-03-12T19:52:08.928-04:00Sweet and SaltyaGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.comBlogger65125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-76497942972670467722013-05-14T00:30:00.000-04:002014-07-29T09:04:06.019-04:00Shit Gets Real, Real QuickListen, I'm a smart girl. I read my fair share of current affairs. I watch sports, mainly football and lately soccer. I listen to NPR and Sports 980. I research 'til I've circled back to previously clicked links for all of my technological needs. I read reviews and weigh pros and cons. I do all of that. So, I'm justified when I watch trash TV or indulge in utterly ridiculous and seemingly unbelievable "reality" shows. I have my limits - my preferences. I'm a fading fan of the Real Housewives franchise. I don't watch as much as I used to and I can barely follow the melodramas relentlessly and cyclically playing out. Many times I'm chuckling. Occasionally, I'm relating. The latter is where I am.<br />
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I caught the end of the most recent ep of the Beverly Hills ladies. Here I sit, on my floor, laptop on lap, with white remnants of tears on my face. The chick to the left in the fierce canary gown, is the former wife of a cheating douche bag, whose mistress is an employee of the seated chick in the fuchsia dress (to Canary's right). They happen to be very good friends. Fuchsia has to cleverly juggle the work schedule of the mistress when Canary visits her restaurant. Talk about multi-tasking!<br />
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True to the plot planning of reality TV, the confrontation, under the guise of a sit-down talk, was bound to happen. And when it did, it did not disappoint. Only, I wasn't really prepared for my visceral reaction. When I thought I'd be popping popcorn into my mouth, my guilty amusement took a hike. It had other plans, yo. While I never EVER blamed the other <strike>woman</strike> women for my ex-husband's poor man pimping, I most assuredly had my WTF moments, especially when I thought back to Xmas shopping for a mistress and other instances where my kindness was a mockery. So, when Canary strutted into Fuchsia's place of business to have a 1 on 1 with that home-wrecking strumpet, my neck and eyes were simultaneously rolling so damn hard in anticipation. <br />
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What happened next shocked me. With empathy I sat and listened to BOTH chicks. Keeping it 100, my empathy scale tipped heavily on the housewife's. When I cued the triumphant music in my head, the housewife was reading the mistress like a thrift store book. She let her know how much of a <a href="http://evelynlozada.spreadshirt.com/you-are-a-non-f-n-factor-b-tch-A7611153" target="_blank">non-mother-fucking factor</a> she was, by revealing she wasn't the only one he'd boned on the side. Canary was visibly upset as she tried her best attempt to further belittle the mistress. She precisely aimed her razor sharp anger daggers towards her and it was difficult to watch. I felt envy. I'd electronically confronted one mistress, but I surely wished I'd had the balls to risk it all and beat at least one bitch's ass. Fuck maturity and "reason." I wanted a sit down...my furious fist sitting on her below average face. That's what I wanted, more than anything while watching that segment. <br />
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No words, just verbs.<br />
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Alas, I realized that maybe, juuuust a maybe I'd done the right thing. Yeah, watching the confrontation pump, pump, pump, pumped me up. But it was fleeting. In an instant, I became so thankful I was spared the potentially devastating details of my ex-husband's debauchery. I applauded the courage it took Canary to confront her, albeit accompanied by a scripted scenario. Pressing pause...I guess I'm really and sincerely glad it wasn't me. That's real talk. aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-17814894885944695082013-05-11T14:00:00.000-04:002014-07-29T09:03:37.570-04:00Ice Ice Baby<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I still prefer a glass of wine over "hard liquor," but when I'm entertaining, I think these cubes will impress and serve its awesome purpose. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><a href="http://www.williams-sonoma.com/products/king-cube-silicone-ice-cube-tray/?pkey=e%7Cice%2Bcube%2Btray%7C2%7Cbest%7C0%7C1%7C24%7C%7C2&cm_src=PRODUCTSEARCH||NoFacet-_-NoFacet-_-NoMerchRules-_-cm_src=PRODUCTSEARCH||NoFacet-_-NoFacet-_-NoMerchRules-_-" target="_blank">William Sonoma</a> brags <i>"<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">The 2" cubes melt slowly to keep drinks colder longer, and it’s easy to create flavor infusions by freezing fruits, herbs or citrus zest right into the ice."</span></i></span></div>
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aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-73187245918723890052013-01-22T22:16:00.006-05:002013-01-22T22:17:37.107-05:00Poof, por favor. I like this show, Girls. Sunday's ep, this here clip...yeah I've been there/here and way more often than my comfort allowed. <br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/7x-YJURoGJg" width="485"></iframe>aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-43903296291270058132013-01-22T09:00:00.000-05:002014-07-29T08:59:50.398-04:00Are You...Can You...Were You? by Shabass Palaces<br />
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My homeboy turned me on to these cats and I'm thankful. They're in a melodic space of their own. Much respect for their beauty in artistic rebellion.<br />
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I just discovered this gift of a guy and can I tell you how much he's moved me? I'm moved a lot lately. Take a listen to how he covers this classic. <br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/OdmTpSqsmRs" width="490"></iframe>I wanna love you and treat you right. I wanna love you every day and every night. We'll be together with a roof over our heads. We'll share the shelter of my single bed. Is this love? Is this love? Is this love? Is this love that I'm feelin'? Is this love? Is this love? Is this love? Is this love that I'm feelin'? I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I-I - I'm willing and able. So I throw my cards on your table! I wanna love you - I wanna love and treat - love and treat you right I wanna love you every day and every night. We'll be together, yeah, with a roof right over our heads .We'll share the shelter, of my single bed. Is this love? Is this love? Is this love? Is this love that I'm feelin'? Is this love? Is this love? Is this love? Is this love that I'm feelin'?aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-89063767324274368682013-01-08T08:00:00.000-05:002013-01-08T08:00:15.738-05:00Academiaby Sia<br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">You can be my alphabet and I will be your calculator</span><br style="border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">And together we'll work out on the escalator</span><br style="border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">I will time you as you run up the down</span><br style="border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">And you'll measure my footsteps as I blow through this town</span><br style="border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">The mean of our heights is divided by the nights</span><br style="border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Which is times'd by the daggers and the root of all our fights,</span><br style="border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">The pass of your poem is to swathe me in your knowing</span><br style="border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">And the beauty of the word is that you don't have to show it</span><br style="border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><br style="border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Oh academia you can't pick me up</span><br style="border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Soothe me with your words when I need your love</span><br style="border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><br style="border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;" /><span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">I am a dash and you are a dot</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white;">When will you see that I am all that you've got</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">I'm a binary code that you cracked long ago</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">But to you I'm just a novel that you wish you'd never wrote</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">I'm greater than x and lesser than y, so why is it</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">That I still can't catch your eye?</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">You're a cryptic crossword, a song I've never heard</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">While I sit here drawing circles I'm afraid of being hurt</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Oh academia you can't pick me up</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Soothe me with your words when I need your love</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">You're a difficult equation with a knack for heart evasion</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Will you listen to my proof or will you add another page on</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">It appears to me the graph has come and stolen all the laughs</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">It appears to me the pen has over analysed again</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">And if I am a number I'm infinity plus one</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">And if you are five words you are afraid to be the one</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">And if you are a number you're infinity plus one</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">And if I am four words then I am needing all your love</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Oh academia you can't pick me up</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Soothe me with your words when I need your love</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">Academia</span>aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-11015082085747315692013-01-02T15:11:00.003-05:002013-01-07T22:56:36.371-05:002012 Recap <div class="_1x1">
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<span class="userContent">iLaughed. iTravelled. iChanted. iLost. iRead. iDrank. iCackled. iKissed. iSang. iRose. iLived. iDanced. iGiggled. iDrank. iBlushed. iCried. iWrote. iSnapped. iDrank. iLearned. iLoved. iRan. iFell. iHealed. iWhistled. iConquered. iRepped. iTerp. iGrew. iDrank. iSkipped. iPurred. iWas. </span></div>
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<span class="userContent">aGoalDigger - 2012</span></div>
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aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-90364467846328731262012-11-09T00:00:00.000-05:002013-01-08T00:04:05.106-05:00Creep<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">I am not perfect, nor do I profess to have never given my parents any problems in my youth. In fact, I went out of my way, like most kids to master my sneaking skills. I waited until they fell asleep before I'd tiptoe into the living room and stretch the super long phone cord ever so gently along the baseboard of the walls. Then, I placed it into the crease of my bedroom door, where I'd slide the cord underneath, and commence to talking, or rather whispering. Sometimes it would be a boy, but at that age, most often it was my best friend. We would just chit chat while watching the Home Shopping Network and fantasizing about what we'd like to order. Oddly, we did that a lot.</span><br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;" /><br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;" /><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">As I got older, 9 times out of 10, it was, most assuredly, a boy I was sneaking and speaking with on the phone. The late night calls naturally progressed to secret meetings in the park, to after school outings, to full out playing hooky together. I know. I know. I keep my eyes and ears open. The luxury is having an alarm system and indicators on every door, so if any one of those doors opens...momma knows! </span><br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;" /><br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;" /><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">I wish I had a picture to give you a visual of the layout of the place where I grew up, because you might find it extremely hard to believe the shenanigans I pulled. We basically lived in a condo style apartment, so the living spaces weren't grandiose. We had a living room dining room combination, a small kitchen, and a hallway that held one bathroom, a "laundry room" and two bedrooms. Somehow, I managed to sneak out of my parents' house while they slept. I rarely went someplace, but rather opted to sit out front kissing my boyfriend. OK, there </span><strong style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">WASSS</strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;"> this one incident, in which I won't delve too much, where my best friend Sabs and I snuck out and came back so late that we actually passed my dad in a car when he was leaving home and on his way to work! That was the closest call...ever! Nevertheless, we crept back into the house, climbed the 14 steps in the entrance of our condo, slid down the hall and past my parents'</span><strong style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">ADJACENT</strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;"> bedroom, into mine. </span><br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;" /><br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;" /><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">So one night, after a nice dinner out with my girls, we were driving down some unknown street. Though born and raised in DC, my navigation skills in the city perplexes and annoys everyone, so sorry I can't remember the name, ok?! Sabs is driving, I'm riding shotgun and Jam is in the back. I peep someone on the left hand side coming out of a window, that's only a few feet from the ground. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">I screamed, "Look at that girl. She's sneaking out of the house!" My girls whoop it up laughing and Jam says, "Turn around, go back. GO BACK!" Sabs makes the world's slowest and most cautious u-turn and we pray that she's still in the DC metropolitan area, LOL. She was! We turn right on her street and pull up beside her just as she's putting on the pink hoodie she was holding in her hand, mid-jump. I rolled my window down and the exchange went something like this:</span><br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;" /><br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;" /><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">Me - Are you over 18?</span><br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;" /><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">Her - (looking flustered) No.</span><br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;" /><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">Me - (neck rolling and lips pouted) Um, hm. We saw you sneaking out of your parents' house and we're gonna tell 'em.</span><br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;" /><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">Her - (looking flustered still and softly mumbling) OK, go ahead.</span><br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;" /><br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;" /><span style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">In the background, like out of a movie, was a random older lady, probably in her 70's, holding a brown paper grocery bag, and looking on. The little truant was standing at the driver door of an SUV, which we later surmised that she was about to steal! As we're pulling off, it appears as though the senior is saying something to her, so I start yelling, "That's right. Tell her momma. Get your behind in that house, ain't nuttin out here in these streets for you girl!" LOL, was quite the scene. Of course, we don't know what happened, but I'd like to think that she'll think lonnnng and hard again, before she rolls out in the middle of the damn night, to go God knows where, with God knows whom. </span><br style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;" /></span>aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-17054117595780695012012-10-20T23:22:00.000-04:002013-01-07T22:53:10.189-05:00Womb HoleJust a few moments ago, I let myself feel, without judgment. I let it go and smiled so deeply. I don't even think its intensity manifested into an actual, physical smile. It was buried within my soul. <br />
<br />
My children are 17 and almost 14 years old. Every year, at least once, I get these little "kicks" in my stomach. If you've ever been pregnant, then only you can really REALLY relate, because nothing feels like a baby's kick...but a baby's kick. They're rarely painful. They're the sweetest surprises and reminders. <br />
<br />
Tonight, I felt a "kick." Normally, I dismiss it like it's not what I think, or rather what feel it is, but I couldn't this time. It just didn't seem fair or authentic. I always hide - run away from it. This time, I wouldn't. These moments are so rare and special to me. I'm going to partially credit my early age hysterectomy to this treasure. Whatever it may be, I love it so much and I can't wait for the next one. I can hardly wait for the next one.<br />
<br />
This time, tonight, I exhaled during and after the kicks and let my wandering hand be. It waywardly circled my tummy. My eyes closed. I let them stay that way, until it felt natural to open. My tummy felt warm. My hands, there are two of them now, stroked my semi-flat belly. And for those few precious minutes, memory lane was all mine. The only passengers were me and my baby. The times I sang and read and cried and laughed and listened and prayed and wished and hoped to my baby in my belly came back to me. They're alive. Resurrected. Hallelujah. Amen. aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-5883546685446086702012-10-10T21:49:00.000-04:002013-01-07T21:50:18.399-05:00Call KaiserLast night, I popped over to my best friend's house, where our other bestie was, as well. Most of their kids were there. Missing was my youngest nephew, who's 3. Not sure where he was though. Curious as I'm typing. Anyway, as kids do, they were butting into adult conversations. The sending of the kids upstairs ensued. If only it were that simple. <br />
<br />
They left. Seconds later, Ladybug, the elder of the cousins, was "crying," because her "leg was hurting." No need to explain the quotations. She's 8. I'll say that. Annnnd, with THAT said you should already know the crying surely exceeded the supposed injury. Her mom, eyes rolling, head shaking, snail's pace moving, went to her rescue. She was around the corner for a few minutes and the crying, still persistent, wasn't sufficiently subsiding. Shit was actually getting *<i>louder.</i> I popped up, slightly entertained. Rounding the corner and entering the foyer, I see my niece damn near stretched out across the floor and my bestie kneeling down "consoling her."<br />
<br />
I asked Ladybug if she was okay and if she thought we needed to call <a href="https://healthy.kaiserpermanente.org/html/kaiser/index.shtml" target="_blank">Kaiser</a>. Honayyyy, when I tell you she straightened up, she straightened the fuck up!!!! Her beautiful bright eyes couldn't have **<i>shone</i> more. She shook her head "no." I left the room and guess what. Her crying revved. Having way more experience in parenting (because I got knocked up in college) and being increasingly entertained, I came back in the room, but not empty handed. Ohhhhh no. I'm a jokester - always have been. Always will be. I had their cordless, house phone in hand in plain sight. Here's how that convo went:<br />
<br />
Me: Should we call Kaiser?<br />
<br />
Ladybug: (frightened) No, mommy. No, aunt Tiffanie. We don't need to call Kaiser.<br />
<br />
Me: Are you sure? You look like you're in a lot of pain, Sweetie. I'm calling. (the neon color of the phone pad light up)<br />
<br />
Ladybug: NO! NO! I'm okay. We don't need to call Kaiser!!!!!!!<br />
<br />
Me: Hmmmm, I'm calling. <br />
<br />
My bestie: Aunt Tiffanie, I don't think we need to call. She said she's okay.<br />
<br />
Ladybug: I don't need Kaiser, Aunt Tiffanie.<br />
<br />
Me: You're sure?! I'm calling. (faint beeps of the cordless and I fake call)<br />
<br />
Ladybug: I'm better! I'm better! <br />
<br />
I slowly walked away and back into the room where our other bestie was ON THE FLOOR DYING LAUGHING. She was like "You ain't right. You AIN'T right." <br />
<br />
Shoot, in my opinion. I was justified and pretty sure that Ladybug would think twice about faking an illness or injury...at least with me in sight. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*more annoying<br />
**after visiting <a href="http://grammarist.com/usage/shined-shone/" target="_blank">this page</a>, I decided on "shone." <br />
<br />aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-50461931520073714042012-09-29T19:30:00.000-04:002013-01-07T23:40:13.303-05:00Estas Cosas<br />
<strong>These things I hate:</strong><br />
treadmills<br />
dimes<br />
dry kisses<br />
feet<br />
one-pieces<br />
posers<br />
pills<br />
headaches<br />
hoopties<br />
meanies<br />
vomiting<br />
water<br />
cancer<br />
poop<br />
noisy bangles<br />
boys with big booties<br />
"Lawd Mama Done Burnt Up The Chicken" stage plays<br />
waiting<br />
vacuuming<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong>These things I love:</strong><br />
wind from wagging tails<br />
cheap wine<br />
being thin<br />
muscadine grapes<br />
laughing<br />
dancing<br />
whistling<br />
wet kisses<br />
Scrabble<br />
The Catcher In The Rye<br />
grammar<br />
apologies<br />
What's Happening<br />
pink<br />
popping tags<br />
going green<br />
fake nails<br />
karaoke<br />
Don Cheadle<br />
clothes from the 70's<br />
Weird Science<br />
bangles<br />
butterflies<br />
high heels<br />
long torsos<br />
snapping my fingers in a circle 3 times<br />
"babies"<br />
UMCPaGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-20019928959204410772012-07-27T18:09:00.000-04:002012-08-07T18:10:16.008-04:00Flip ItYou have your closet freaks, your secret snackers, your bump poppers, and your nose pickers. I'm in a different league. I don't think my fetish is kinky, but rather crazy. I have this thing and I've been doing it for a long time now and I'm not going to stop. It involves a stall and a seat - nothing fancy needed, just a bathroom and toilet seat.<br />
<br />
For years, and I really don't know how many, I go to the bathroom and have a field day. While everyone else is pretty much all about business, whether it's #1 or #2 or completing a Words With Friends game, they are on a mission. As am I. My mission involves making my visit as comfortable as possible. My intentions are never to stay in there for the long haul. No. Because this only takes place in a bathroom, other than mine. I approach it just as anyone else. I may or may not lace the seat, before plopping down. The difference is, once I'm on the seat, I immediately go for the tissue. If it looks like this<br />
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<br />
it will inevitably look like this.<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Yjgh7NB5D4E/UBIaIeK-O0I/AAAAAAAAT14/LOIobk7uLcM/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Yjgh7NB5D4E/UBIaIeK-O0I/AAAAAAAAT14/LOIobk7uLcM/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
I don't care who it is or where I am. I'm going to make your undie an overy. <br />
<br />aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-51615617010759013542012-06-14T22:20:00.000-04:002012-06-14T22:20:12.810-04:00Otis Monkeying Around<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/aSIvYrrEpuQ" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
I swear I admit that I'm "that chick" with the annoying and adorable dog. I just love Otis Dexter Bailey (aka ODB) Coleman. I do. The connection I have with him is deep and real. See, he wasn't my dog from my married life. No. I had another dog. I've blogged about her before in my, now defunct blog. I got Chelsea Marie Coleman after a few years of begging my ex-husband to let me get a dog. Be clear that he got me her, but she was NOT what I wanted. I've always craved a dog, well, like Otis. Instead, he got me Chelsea, the Queen of England's dog, a Pembroke Welsch Corgi. I was so happy, I really didn't give two fucks. That was until I discovered that she was one the TOP SHEDDING BREEDS of dogs!!!! I couldn't keep up with her. Her hair was everywhere. And though she was smart as fuck and perfect, the hair drove me bananas. I taught her how to speak (yes, I'd say speak and she'd howl!!!!!) and roll over and sit and stay and come and all of that good shit. She was the absolute perfect dog, but again, she was NOT what I wanted. So, when my marriage came to the most dramatic and cliche demise, I let her go. My kids, who were also a product of my marriage, were indispensable, but somehow she, Chelsea, was. Shortly after being bought out of my half of the house and moving into the most expensive rental in PG County, I got rid of her. I put together a great little ad and sent her picture around to my fellow dog lover co-workers. Within 24 hours, I had a hit. My co-worker, who had 2 other dogs, fell in love with Chelsea's bio and pics. The next thing you know, we were doing house visits and Chelsea was on her way to her new family. Simultaneously, I was online looking for cute, purse sized dogs and I found a Schnoodle breeder in Silver Spring, Maryland and gagged. I saw Otis online and fell in love. I went to visit him and fell all the way in love. To date, I haven't stopped. <br />
<br />
Otis was my divorce dog. He was my new beginning. He was my carry-on. He was my ride or die. And though he's waaaaaaay too clingy now, I get why. I'd just left my husband and changed my kids' futures. When I'd come home after work and crawl into the bed, without fixing dinner or settling in, Otis would be by my side. He'd be by my side peering up at me with that damn eyes. He heeled me and so I happily admit that I'm that chick, because without my Pooter, I wouldn't be. That's it. I wouldn't be.aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-87598175967959009962012-04-10T22:28:00.002-04:002012-04-11T15:54:51.472-04:00Reb'l Fleur<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6kftocaxpts/T4XaiETPQpI/AAAAAAAASgE/igo9FZ4B9Bk/s1600/brownie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qda="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-6kftocaxpts/T4XaiETPQpI/AAAAAAAASgE/igo9FZ4B9Bk/s320/brownie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Easter was this weekend. I don't celebrate it, which has nothing to do my Buddhism. Way before I became Buddhist, or a Buddhist - however you wanna say it, I didn't celebrate it. I can remember taking the kids to church a time or two, but it was for the most *shallowistic reasons. I actually loved how cute my babies looked in countless layers of tule and Steve Harvey-esque suits, with matching "alligator" shoes! Easter, for me, it was an occasion to get dressy. I do know some of the basics about Easter and what it represents. In my Buddha world a lil <em>something something</em> happened on Sunday. I can't even call it. I guess my faith was resurrected and rejuvenated too. I hadn't been chanting much and found myself casually mumbling "nam myoho renge kyo" as though it were an after thought. There were always things I'd have in mind, stuff like where I want to be professionally, physically and of course romantically. As a girl, and I'm such one, we seem to be stuck in the place where we want to high-five and or middle-finger love. We'd much rather the former, but the latter is more acceptable. When we openly profess that we want to be all up in it, we get the gas face and unsolicited cautionary tales of good boys gone bad. When it's schmeared with fear, who the fuck in their right mind would want it? Well if loving is wrong, I don't wanna be write. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">*<strong><em>inside joke</em></strong></span>aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-35656988411555193852012-03-17T08:44:00.016-04:002012-03-18T22:34:54.485-04:00Call Waiting *(NSFW)I know, I know. I'm picky as fuck. That's what you might think, but I don't agree. Spoiled? Nah, only my father does that. What adjective or compilation of clever words can I use to describe what I'm saying, without blurting it out? Ef it. I can't. I'll just say it. I hate to be put on hold! Nooooo, that's not it. I hate when I'm talking to someone and they say "I'll call you back." I'm not spoiled. I'm NOT. Fine. Maybe I was in this regard. You see, my ex (boyfriend, not hubby) is a talker. That sucka could go on and on and on and on and I loved him for it. I gets my talk and listen on and we complemented each other in that way. He was indeed, the best friend a girl could have. Because he was my primary goto phone buddy, our conversations were rarely interrupted. In hindsight, I'm sure a slew of chicks were calling his ass and he didn't answer, but nevertheless on those very rare moments, he'd put me on hold and even fewer times he'd end our call. He is the exception. I have to tell and remind myself, sometimes. Still, I don't think it's "fair." Like, when the fuck do I get upgraded to "I'll call you back" status, because "Tiff's on the other line"? I'm serious!?!<br />
<br />
My best friend Sabs, for example, is notorious for this shit. No lie. We could be mid-sentence, story even, and she will roll me the fuck out in an instant and mumbles her exit. The hold will be abrupt, but pales in comparison to her "lemmecallyouback" slur. I hate her. <br />
<br />
She's not alone though. <br />
<br />
Am I the only person who doesn't find a call from my mom as dire and a necessity? No diss, there's much love but we ain't talkin' 'bout shit important. We ain't! What she ate for lunch or I'm telling her something the kids did, but uh that's it. Even when I was boo'd up or married, my guy's beep didn't mean the end of a conversation. It just didn't. Perhaps it should have, LOL? Nah, a few missed calls couldn't have saved our relationship. I'm just saying, that shit irks my nerves, buttttt it's getting better. I expect it and so it doesn't bother me as much as it used to, despite this post. 'Sides, texting has been my remedy and it works. <br />
<br />
<b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">*not safe for work label only because the cursometer is high, ha.</span></i></b>aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-79100389721397682382012-03-12T14:13:00.001-04:002012-03-12T14:16:36.965-04:00Mission PossibleI tell ya, I never envisioned myself one to participate in or need the assistance of a Life Coach, but I do. We all do, in my opinion. The presence of one doesn't have negative connotations. It means you're all about improving your life space. I see nothing wrong with it. <a href="http://happyblackwoman.com/31dayreset-day-6-personal-mission-statement/" target="_blank">Day 6 of my 31 Day Reset Program</a> calls for me to put together a mission statement, based on the values I've identified as being most important to me in Day 5. I kept this to myself, but am sharing my mission statement. P.S. I'm actually hella late on my other days, but this program is important for me to complete, so I'm playing catch up today.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>Thanks for reading...<br />
<div><br />
<div><br />
</div><div><b><i>"My life will always be meaningful, because honesty is my highest value. I will strive to incorporate authenticity and truthfulness in everything that I do, say, and become. I hope to be an example for my family, friends, enemies, and strangers. With sincerity and financial responsibility, I will secure my children's futures. I will give love and accept it, like I've never been hurt. I will dance and sing and travel with him. Like a lotus flower, I will fearlessly blossom. I will shamelessly share my Buddhism and become a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bodhisattva" target="_blank">Bodhisattva</a>. Through my spirituality, I will conquer fear and I will win. I will win."</i></b> </div></div></div>aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-65995972895945284212012-01-09T21:24:00.000-05:002012-01-13T09:25:01.723-05:00You've Been Warned<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Earlier today, I received this email, from my mother, addressed to me, my sister, and my Uncle (her brother). </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">"Good morning, just wanted to let you know that someone at my job's Facebook account was hacked into. The person was sending emails to her Facebook friends and saying they had won some money and all they had to do was send money for the taxes and they would get the money they won. Also there was another person's account at my job whose account was hacked into, and so they sent out some pictures of them to their friends and some spam email. So the bottom line is be careful of what is on your account and email, and check out things first that come your way. Tiffanie please let grandson know about this also, and anyone else you want</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><var></var></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">to inform.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Love ya!"</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, tell me you didn't smile and or laugh and or shake your head when you read this. It's not possible, at least it wasn't for me. My morning's start was craptastical, so imagine the instant joy I felt working its way through my mouse finger to turning my frown upside down. This sweet, naive, gem did that. I think I read it about 3 times, before I picked up the phone to call my mom. That conversation went a little something like this:</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">---</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Hi mommy! I got your email.</i> </span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You did? Okay, I'm glad. I wasn't sure if it sent. Well, anyway ain't that something? </span></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What?</span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That somebody hacked into my co-worker's account and asked for money. You have to be careful.</span></b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm confused.</span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>They hacked into her account and sent emails to a lot of people saying that they had won some money and all they had to do was pay for the taxes on the money and then they would get the winnings. So she went all the way down to some place and wired the money. When my other co-worker got in today she asked her if she got the money she sent her over the weekend. She was like "I don't know what you're talking about." Well they figured it out that it was spam and she went back to the email to show her. It's crazy. You can't trust people and you have to be careful. I'm just saying that you double check things or pick up the phone and ask and confirm before you do something. Well, I know you wouldn't do that, but I wanted to spread it, just in case. Oh, and the other one said someone broke into his account and sent very graphic types of pictures to his FaceBook friends and put it on their sites and stuff. </b><i> </i></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: orange; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh wow, okay. I get spam emails all of the time and I just ignore them. </span></i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Good!</span></b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">We swapped a few more comments about how silly and unfortunate it was that her co-worker lost money, that she didn't really have. Desperate times calls for desperate measures, huh? </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;">I absolutely loved this exchange, because it was so sincere. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 16px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></span>aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-4089600403091006932011-11-08T07:54:00.003-05:002012-01-22T23:18:01.896-05:00Just FineIt's been a while. I have more drafts on my Blogger dashboard than I care to admit. I've put so much energy into the crafting the perfect "I'm back" post that I haven't posted shyt. So, I've decided to just write. <br />
<br />
This year has been absolutely amazing for me. I can't say that enough and not bubble the phuck up inside. I've been incredibly blessed beyond belief. My homeboy sent me a text from him and <a href="http://labeautybeat.com/" target="_blank">his wife</a> (still odd to type that, since he just got married) that said "This is the year of Tiffanie." It's true. Everything, and I mean e'rythang I've wanted has come true. My daddy bought me a house. My kids are flourishing. I have the best, most honorable friends ever. I got a raise and I'm "Employee of the Year" and I got a new job. My dog is healthy, still an aggressive little fucker, but a joy. Best of all, I'm an auntie!!! No one can test me. I'm so happy, from the depths of my soul and it's a feeling I've never felt...EVER. I'm not counting giving birth or being married as being comparable to this level of happiness. I think mostly because it's come so naturally and is not forced. In the seemingly darkest of times, I've found and maintained joy. That puts me well on my way to be a <a href="http://www.sgilibrary.org/search_dict.php?id=170" target="_blank">Bodhisattva</a>. <br />
<br />
As I've mentioned before, I'm a Buddhist. Our "church" is held on the first Sunday of every month and it's called Kosen Rufu, which is what we like to call World Peace Day. It's a way for us to come together to share amazing experiences, upcoming news, spread world peace, both locally and globally. There's no formality to it, however each month is lead by a particular district. Sometimes a little thrown together program is distributed upon entering the center. Other times, it's just stuff. This time we were given the lyrics to Mary J. Blige's song "Just Fine." I thought it was a tad odd, but not for the reasons you may. It had nothing to do with singing secular music in a sacred environment. No. It was more about "are we gonna sing this" and "does everyone in this room even know the rhythm?" Well, seems we did and they did! I thought it was the most fitting song and post to jump start my blogging again. So, please read the words and know that they apply to me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong><u>Just Fine by Mary J. Blige</u></strong> <br />
<br />
You know I love music<br />
And every time I hear something hot<br />
It makes me wanna move<br />
It makes me wanna have fun<br />
But it’s something about this joint right here<br />
This joint right here<br />
Its makes me wanna…..Woooh<br />
<br />
Let it go<br />
Can’t let this thing called love get away from you<br />
Feel free right now, going do what you want to do<br />
Can’t let nobody take it away, from you, from me, from we<br />
No time for moping around, are you kidding?<br />
And no time for negative vibes, cause I’m winning<br />
It’s been a long week, I put in my hardest<br />
Gonna live my life, feels so good to get it right<br />
<br />
So I like what I see when I’m looking at me<br />
When I’m walking past the mirror<br />
No stress through the night, at a time in my life<br />
Ain’t worried about if you feel it<br />
Got my head on straight, I got my mind right<br />
I ain't gonna let you kill it<br />
You see I wouldn’t change my life, my life’s just…..<br />
<br />
Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, ooooh<br />
Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, ooooh<br />
Just fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, ooooh<br />
You see I wouldn’t change my life, my life’s just fine<br />
<br />
Feels so good, when you’re doing all the things that you want to do<br />
Get the best out of life, treat yourself to something new<br />
Keep your head up high<br />
In yourself, believe in you, believe in me<br />
Having a really good time, I’m not complaining<br />
And I’m a still wear a smile if it raining<br />
I got to enjoy myself regardless<br />
I appreciate life, I’m so glad I got mine<br />
So I like what I see when I’m looking at me<br />
<br />
When I’m walking past the mirror<br />
Ain't worried about you and what you gonna do<br />
I’m a lady so I must stay classy<br />
Got to keep it hot, keep it together<br />
If I want to get better<br />
You see I wouldn’t change my life, my life’s just…..<br />
Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, ooooh<br />
Fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, ooooh<br />
Just fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, fine, ooooh<br />
You see I won’t change my life, my life’s just fine<br />
<br />
I ain't gon’ let nothing get in my way<br />
(I ain't gone let nobody bring me down, no, no, no)<br />
No matter what nobody has to say<br />
(No way, no way, no way)<br />
I ain’t gon’ let nothing get in my way<br />
No matter what nobody has to say<br />
<br />
Feels so good, when you’re doing all the things that you want to do<br />
Get the best out of life, treat yourself to something new<br />
It’s a really good thing to say<br />
That I won’t change my life, my life’s just fineaGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-2416626208964639102011-07-12T09:59:00.001-04:002011-07-12T10:01:23.591-04:00PlayaLegally I'm single, free to mingle. But the essence of me is a married woman. I'm all tied up. I've got shackles that chain me to one person, whoever that may be. Bed hopping, body rocking, knocking boots all night long, ain't me. My goodies are contained - fresh and sealed. When the top is popped, only one hand goes in at a time. I'm finger licking "betcha can't eat just one" Lays. After the munchies have subsided and the high is low, I'm still here. Except your cravings haven't been satisfied. You're a picky eater - a snacker. One with an insatiable appetite, whose eyes are bigger than his stomach.aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-40994204360507989372011-06-28T14:17:00.000-04:002011-06-28T14:17:06.335-04:00Breath of Fresh AirI was having a conversation with an ex co-worker about her staff member, whose breath is downright foul. I remember him very well and I implored her to say something. It's a touchy subject and very hard to do, but it must be done. It's not fair to him and it's REALLY not fair to her! In the long run, they'll both appreciate the candid convo. In general, we all talk a good game about what we'd say and how we'd want someone to tell us...but do we? Honestly, could you tell your lover or family member that they didn't smell so well? An occasional bad breath day, okay. But what about funky feet or putrid pits? Bad balls or tart tits? Would you, could you tell a friend? Would you, could if they offend? <br />
<br />
A while ago I told one of my exes that his breath wasn't on the money. He ate gobs of pasta, loaded with garlic and I hated it. I'd complain and refuse smooches. Out of retaliation, he told me that I was "musky" sometimes. I didn't put any weight to it, however (is that the saying?). Anyway, in response to my complaints, he tried to correct the problem. That's all I needed - acknowledgment, acceptance, and a GD effort. Some people need more than that though. They need a full out intervention, with a signed commitment to change, forever.<br />
<br />
I remember being with my cousins, during our annual cousins reunion weekend thingy. We were posing and taking pictures left and right. I was sitting on the couch and putting my arm around one cousin, to take our last picture before we left. As we were gathering purses and taking last swigs, she said, "Did you put on deodorant?" SHOCKED. One by one, I lifted my arms to take a whiff and said, "Yeah, do I stink?" She said, "Yeah girl." I laughed and was like, "OMG, thank you." I ran upstairs, washed my underarms ('cause you can't put sweet on top-a funk), slathered myself in Degree, and ran down the steps. When we got into the car, I told everybody about what she said and thanked her, 'cause THAT'S a real thang she did. Now of course, I'm incredibly self conscious. I have a teeny travel size stick of Degree at work and in my car and in my purse and in....just joking, but I do have one in my overhead at my office. Think I might have OCD or something. Before clubbing, I tend to rub on a little more than usual as I'm heading out the door. Phucking deo balls practically fall from my pits when I'm dancing and raising the roof. Ha! I bring new meaning to "making it rain." I'm making it snow on suckas!!!aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-16816593232617439942011-06-18T22:47:00.006-04:002011-06-19T11:29:19.463-04:00Quick To Pull The TriggerI had to google the title of this post to make sure I had it correctly. Yup, I do. It means to quickly respond to something. I usually don't do this, b'cept in the guy category. My divorce had me verrrry leery of men. I can easily look back now and see that I was a scared, heartbroken lil thang who shut shyt down if ANY guy said one damn thing to me that didn't sound quite right. In hindsight, I regret some of those actions. I allowed less overtly wicked ones to weasel their ways into this heart o' mine, while fending off those whose intentions were probably more pure. Pure might be a stretch. Less wicked will suffice. It's okay. It really is. I've learned a whole lot and ain't that what it's all about? I'm finally able to exhale. I swear it took forever, but thankfully my Buddha spirit and some mean daimoku guided me. I'm not mad or sad. I'm actually on the road to happiness and hopefulness.aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-25741795504080120732011-06-16T01:00:00.003-04:002011-06-16T07:38:28.684-04:00ROTFLOLLast night was so damn fun, and there's nothing better than an unexpected cackle. Wait, yes there is. What's better, is an unexpected, seemingly never-ending, hardy laugh. I had that. I did that.<br />
<br />
The day was a normal, work day. My work hubby and I made up...again and all was well. The kids arrived home safely from school and I was all set to work on some blog drafts, when my homeboy texts me about the comedy show he was attending later. I told him that my co-worker and her guy went the previous night. He asked what she said, because apparently this was a new show, and I told him that she hadn't reported back. After a brief conversation with her, it turns out they didn't go, but were on the way, at THAT moment. I got giddy. I texted my homeboy and yeah so I basically invited myself to kick it with him, his lady, his boy, and his lady, thus therefore making myself their +1. <br />
<br />
Fast forward to warning the kids about not opening the door and keeping hands off of the other. I threw on something cute and comfy and bolted. Ah, the advantages of having older kids! <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0W-SEims-cw/TflydAJM02I/AAAAAAAADDI/-w0mdvRJhGA/s1600/061411184541.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0W-SEims-cw/TflydAJM02I/AAAAAAAADDI/-w0mdvRJhGA/s320/061411184541.jpg" width="180px" /></a></div>I arrived to find my co-worker and her boo sitting at the perfect seat, holding an empty space for me. I was their +1 too, awww. (Are you detecting the love?) The show didn't start until after 8, which was cool. It gave me a chance to call my girl and holla at her for a minute. While I was outside, my homeboy and nem arrived. I dapped them up (still on the phone) and they went inside. I followed soon thereafter when I heard intro music! I gets in and the local comedian Red Grant is on stage. He's the host and he was pretty damn funny. I've never seen or heard him, but I was pleasantly surprised at how I was laughing. I'd only had one drink, so don't blame it on the alcohol. He intro'd a few comics, and the lead singer from the go-go band Suttle Thoughts came on. Had chicks up in there swooning. Right before the featured comic, Red pulled a guy onto the stage who apparently is repping the DMV area AND is part of Prince's band. Yes <i style="font-weight: bold;">theeee</i> Prince. That dude played a phucking harmonica. Nah, he murdered that shyt. Peep my vid and pardon my cheers.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/NcR-N5jQ9dU" width="425"></iframe><br />
<br />
While I'd already gotten a good dose of my laugh on, nothing prepared me for what was next. Red Grant did the whole "coming to the stage we got...." thing. Immediately, I peeped the comic's dimple. It was so deep and prominent and just precious. He said a few jokes and I think I saw a white light. I'm not lying. The rest of the night was a hilarious blur of sorts. And if I couldn't fall back on my good looks, I'd be really embarrassed at my behavior. I became "that chick." You know...the one who loses all control of everything just because they're laughing. That was me. At some point, during the evening I:<br />
<ul><li>dramatically fell over the bar where I was sitting,</li>
<li>stood up declaring that I was going to leave,</li>
<li>begged the comedian to get off the stage,</li>
<li>stomped my feet,</li>
<li>spun COMPLETELY around on my stool,</li>
<li>turned my back to the comedian,</li>
<li>grabbed the lady beside,</li>
<li>leaned on the lady beside me,</li>
<li>extended my hand for five, from the lady beside me,</li>
<li>high fived the lady beside,</li>
<li>did the previous 3 things to my co-worker...and her guy,</li>
<li>walked over to the my homeboy's table and did said things to him and his lady,</li>
<li>hollered,</li>
<li>yelled at the comic to "stop"</li>
<li>loudly answered the questions he posed to the audience,</li>
<li>finger snapped,</li>
<li>was all "uh, no he didn't," </li>
<li>complained about my cheeks and abs hurting, and </li>
<li>unapologetically did the most. </li>
</ul><div>Everybody deserves to freely feel what I felt and I hope that one day you do. </div><div><br />
</div><div>P.S. How much of a wanksta would I be if I didn't tell you who had me in stitches actin' a complete fool? His name, drum roll...Mark Viera!!!!!!!!!! Here's a taste of what he did.<br />
<br />
Enjoy!!!</div><div><br />
</div><div><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/qWXXqoL79Nc" width="425"></iframe></div>aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-71329227776325162812011-06-13T08:38:00.000-04:002011-06-13T08:38:17.903-04:00UnpluggedI tweeted this a few minutes ago.<br />
<br />
<span class="tweet-user-name">"<a class="tweet-screen-name user-profile-link" data-user-id="15457657" href="http://twitter.com/#!/aGoalDigger" title="aGoalDigger"><strong><span style="color: #333333;">aGoalDigger</span></strong></a> <span class="tweet-full-name"><span style="color: #999999; font-size: x-small;">aGoalDigger</span></span> </span><br />
<div class="tweet-corner"><div class="tweet-meta"><span class="icons"><div class="extra-icons"><span class="inlinemedia-icons"></span></div></span></div></div><div class="tweet-row"><div class="tweet-text pretty-link">Why do people get "mad" when I'm texting or such on my phone? Seriously, am I supposed to disconnect 'cause ur in my company? I wonder..."</div><div class="tweet-text pretty-link"> </div><div class="tweet-text pretty-link" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I felt compelled to pop over here and delve a little further, because that tweet came as a result of the Facebook and Twitter profile picture change. It's this now. </div><div class="tweet-text pretty-link" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gW1j2wtv2RA/TfX9IR0nx1I/AAAAAAAADB8/B-mM7GzwXUM/s1600/tweeting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gW1j2wtv2RA/TfX9IR0nx1I/AAAAAAAADB8/B-mM7GzwXUM/s320/tweeting.jpg" t8="true" width="240px" /></a></div><div align="left" class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">My cousin posted on my wall "<span class="messageBody" data-ft="{"type":3}">Ha! That profile pic says it all." I agreed and then I took to Twitter. It made me think about how annoyed my friends have gotten in the past when I'm on my phone and I wonder why. It's NOT like I stay on it all of the time, but what's wrong with my checking my phone or responding to a text or tweet when I'm with my friends? And let's be clear, I'm NOWHERE near where I want to be professionally (outside of my 9-5 that is) so when things REALLY get poppin', the annoyance and gasps will most assuredly be disregarded. Maybe it's more acceptable if it's for work? IDK, but I look at shows like the Kardashians, specifically Kim and I think "Now there's a reason to be annoyed." I stand firmly that I'm not like that, but I'm not ruling out the future possibility. So for now, you guys have to deal with it. </span></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-8124808846840024612011-06-03T08:38:00.001-04:002011-06-03T08:38:00.249-04:00calientei heart lisaraye<br />
this lil snippet, i just adore<br />
watch her lips curl at the end<br />
precious<br />
<br />
<iframe width="475" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/sF6DiJQaoAk" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6578924607363094262.post-10047561790513567712011-06-02T20:30:00.002-04:002011-06-06T11:39:28.938-04:00floateri was sitting in my backyard one day and saw this THING. i don't know what it was. it wasn't an animal. it wasn't a petal in a web. it just was. i thought it was so beautiful. floating about. aimlessly sailing. like me.<br />
<br />
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<iframe width="450" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/0RFGyEu63Q0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>aGoalDiggerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05116710162083352880noreply@blogger.com3