Sunday, November 30, 2008
Yes, Yes, Yes, that is Manny, as he sits on the floor, eating his breakfast of apple slices, peaches and cream oatmeal and orange juice (he will also get a Strawberry Go-Gart) and forces me to endure yet another showing of “Elephant”. For does of you who don’t know, Elephant is Ice Age, and although I love the Ice Age Movie and am looking forward to 3, coming out in 2009; enough is enough already!
Quick background story on how I ended up with little bit for the week end. Well, it’s not actually quick, but I will try to make it as short as possible. Believe it our not it all stems from when I went to pick up Manny to see Madagascar 2, at Head Start. I went in uniform, because his teacher requested that I come out and speak with the children about stranger danger. Yeah, speak to three, four and five years olds about stranger danger. I know, I know, it is never to early to start teaching stranger, but did I really have to be in uniform to do it?
So, I show up around 2:15 to pick him up and his class is taking a nap. Who takes a nap at two in the afternoon, besides me I mean. I figured that they’d be done taking their nap by two. Anyway, the instructor was at lunch and there was an assistant watching the napping ankle biters. I find Manny’s sleeping figure and pick him up off his mat. The first thing that comes out of his mind, as he is being lifted off the floor is; “I don’t want to.” Is that cool. I love my little nephews survival instinct. We grab his backpack (which turned out not to be his) and jacket and was headed out when we encounter his instructor. Apparently the word went out around the building that a police officer was in the house, and since she new I was coming she managed to put tow and two together.
We spoke for about thirty minutes and then she suckered me by asking if I new any of my officers friends that would be interested in adopting one of the classes for Christmas. I didn’t want to tell her that I don’t have any officer friends, so I just volunteered to adopt Manny’s class.
“What does adopting a class consist of?” I ask.
“You just have to buy a toy for each of the kids.”
“Oh, well how many kids are there in Manny’s class?”
In my head I was like. what the fuck! But it there was not turning back, I had already committed myself. Note to self. Next time, before you commit yourself to buy toys for a class room full of kids, ask how many kids are in said class first.
Which brings up to this weekend. My little and big sister were in my area of town, to do some Christmas shopping, and called me to see if I wanted to go with them. Since I’d taken, yet another day off, I said yes. Plus, I wanted them to see the toys I got for the little rug rats, which consisted of remote control cars, dolls, and animated robots. Very cool stuff, that I got a Walgreen, at a very reasonable price. Plus, the manager gave me his employee discount, when he found out the reason behind the purchase. How cool was that?
Anyway, they come in the house and I take them to the bedroom closet, where I have the gifts stored. We try to keep Manny out, but that didn’t work, as I showed them the gifts. He didn’t get a good look at the toys, but he knew there were toys and that was enough. So, once we returned from the mall and they were dropping me back off he told his Mommy that he wanted to stay with Uncle One Man. I figured what the heck, I always say no, I needed to say yes.
As soon as we get into the house that little bastard makes a bee line to the closet of toys and ask, “Can I play with your toys.” The little monster thought he was slick. But the answer was no, so I think the continuous viewing of Ice Age is his way of punishing me. LOL
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Okay, another Thanksgiving has come and gone and I had a wonderful time with my family. Eating, mingling, football, Rummikub…..Great. No, alcohol no Marijuana. Even better. And NO DRAMA! Priceless.
Yeap, in my family; no drama. Hard to believe, huh. Sorry to let you down, dwashington. Lol
Now comes the best part of the year for me. No more running from Christmas music. Yeah, you heard me right. I hate when Christmas music is played before Thanksgiving. I is just wrong. So I try to avoid it at every turn. However, now it will be nothing but Christmas music for me, now until December 25, I will have Christmas music coming out my ass. Yeap, by the time the actually day gets here I will have had my fill of Christmas music until the next year. LOL
Anyway, I hope you all had the best of Thanksgivings. Did I say I was thankful for my Blog family? Because I am.
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Okay, here is how it went. The maid came thirty minutes later and it took her a little over four hours and she still didn’t finish everything, but she charged me the same price so I didn’t complain. Besides, I knew her ass was not going to able to finish cleaning my house, with all the things she had to do, in eight hours, let alone four. Hell, it take me about a week just to take care of the main sections of the place and I know where everything goes. I don’t think I’ll be using them again though.
Anyway, once she showed up I went on my merry way. Hung out a Bed Bath and Beyond, Borders Books, Best Buy. Then I went to visit my mom. This woman is amazing. One good hand she cooked Turkey, dressing, mac and cheese, one of those weird ambrosia salads, three cakes, a pie, dressing and I forget what else. She also told me how much my Aunt S spent on the ham….back story in five, four, three, two, one. …
Okay, for the last two years I have been in charge of bringing the ham to Thanksgiving dinner and I have been hooking that bitch up too. LOL. This year my Aunt S decided she wanted me to go in half on a Honey baked ham with her. Now keep in mind my Aunt S has caviar test, so I knew she was going to buy some expensive ass ham. So, true to form, my mom let’s me know that Aunt S bought a sixty dollar ham. The “big” one. This better be one big ass ham. But I am not going to complain. I’m just gonna give her my thirty dollars and be about it.
Thanksgiving is tomorrow, so while you are out and about eating and enjoying the family (for as long as you can stomach them), be safe and remember to truly be thankful. We are truly blessed!
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.
As for you, dwashington, I am not expecting any drama on Thanksgiving, but I can understand why you would think there would be. However, I will keep you posted. You never know. There was much drama last year, that you boy was smack dab in the middle of. I’m not sure I shared it though, since I came out looking bad in the story. LOL
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
I am so pissed off right now. Yes, this is my second post today! I went out to clean my damn car, the inside at any rate; and I noticed that someone has taken the sticker off my registration receipt. Yes, you heard me right. I am like to think of myself as a responsible brother. Messy, yes, but responsible as hell. So, I try not to do anything last minute, because if I do I will forget to do it all together. So, when it came time to renew my registration sticker I did it immediately. Literally a month a head of time. When the sticker came in the mail I left it in my car, because no one rides in my car but me and my little nephew, at times. That’s it.
Well recently I have been being nice and switching out cars with my niece and little sister. They have sports utility vehicles and it just makes it easier for me when it comes to my mom’s wheel chair. Mainly because I keep my truck so packed full of shit, I don’t want to move it to make room for the chair. I get it…that’s my bad. However, when I let you take possession of my car I expect you to take care of the bitch and not to go rambling through shit and I definitely don’t expect you to steal from me.
You see where I am going with this? Yeah, as I am cleaning out my car, tossing papers and shit, I run across the Registration receipt that they adhered the registration sticker on, but no registration sticker. I sit there and look at it and I am thinking; “I don’t remember putting that on my car.” So, I walk over to the front of my car and sure enough the old sticker is still there (It expires the end of this month). So, I send out a text to little brother, little sister and niece asking if they remember seeing the sticker. I am not make yet, because I am keeping an open mind, as I continue to clean out my fucking car. Eventually I get three texts back saying no, in various ways, but the overall concessions is that no one has seen it. Well, the damn thing didn’t up and fly away, so I sent out this text to all parties.
“Everyone said no, so here is my problem. I have the receipt with no sticker adhered to it. Yall are the only ones that have let drive my car. Please ask your friends because it will cost me another seventy five dollars to replace the damn thing.”
Keep in mind that I don’t curse around my family, not even the little curse word like damn, so I threw that in there to let them know I was pissed off. Low and behold I get a phone call from my niece saying that this girl she use to hang around with might have taken it. Of course, she doesn’t hang around with the bitch any more because she found out that the bitch steals. Yeah, that makes me feel good. “Why is your friend going through my stuff, Stacy. Better yet, why are you allowing her to go through the things in my car?” Of course she has no good answer for me, but she knows that the friend of this friend needed a registration for HER car. What the fuck!
I am so fucking pissed out right now. I can‘t stand to be stolen from! This is why I don‘t allow my family to use my shit and this is why I am reluctant to ask them to house sit when I am out of town. And this is why I no longer host on the Holidays. I can‘t trust their asses to do the right thing. Don‘t get me wrong. I trust my little brother and sister, I already figured that Stacy had something to do with the shit, but they ass well allow the bad element into the fucking equation.
I am hella pissed right not. Just when I am about to pry open my wallet and let loose with the change to get my house professional cleaned, I have to put up with this shit! This is one of the main reasons I am so stand offish to their damn friends and why I hate that they allow them into my mother house.
I did. I actually did it. I can’t believe that I did it and I hope I don’t regret it. We’ll know by tomorrow, the day before Thanksgiving.
Sunday, I went out on a blind date. I don’t want to talk about it. However, while en route to said date I saw this chick driving a car advertising a maid service. I immediately took out my cell phone and dialed the number on the side of the car. Of course the place was closed so I left a detailed message. Well, someone called me back today. Actually she called my ass back several times. I missed the first four calls because I was sleep. And you know why I was sleep? Because I woke up at seven in the morning with my mind set on cleaning my house from top to bottom. Yeah, it didn’t work out that way. What I ended up doing was eating a bowl of cereal and taking my happy ass back to sleep.
Anyway, it was the fifth call that I decided to wake up for and the lady was very nice. She asked me what kind of cleaning I was looking for and went on to describe the two packages. I took the second one for $97.37. With that package they clean the house, cobwebs, oven , icebox, laundry, floors, windows, toilets, sinks, dishes, I think they will even wipe my ass, but I neglected to ass. I get all that for two hours, twenty five dollars for each additional hour. Now, since I am an Oscar Madison type I tried to warn the woman that she didn’t know what she was getting her maids into, but she said they were use to cleaning bachelor pads. Whatever. I’m going to let them take a stab out of it and then make a decision if I am going to continue to use them on a bi-weekly or monthly basis. I’m thinking monthly.
So, what do you think? Does that sound like a good price? I’ve never had a maid before. I always clean my own house. You know….sometimes. Of course a bi-yearly cleaning is never a good thing. Oh, oh, and did I say that they supply all of the cleaning materials? Cause they do!
Oh, well, now that I don’t have a house to worry about, I think I’m going to go outside and clean my car. I lost my damn check book, which you would think would be hard to do when you consider it is the size of a three ring binder, and I think it is in my car someone. Yeah, my car is mess as well. I need to work on my cleaning skills.
-One Man's Opinion. Peace.
Oh, and before I go, on last question. Are you suppose to tip a maid? This is my first time, so I don't know. I know you tip a prostitute, if she does a good job, but maids are providing a whole other type of service.
Monday, November 24, 2008
I truly miss my dog, Roscoe. I try not to think about it but the reality is that not a day goes by that I don’t think of that damn dog. It’s virtually impossible not to think about him, because he was apart of my everyday life. Anytime I walked into the living area he sensed my presenses and was at the back door. He knew the sound of my engine, with both the Avalanche and the Nissan, and would already be running at the gate as I drove up the alley. He was always happy to see me.
Roscoe was a smart ass dog too. Did you know that I managed to house break him in three days. Seriously, three days. He was the first dog that I ever took time out to teach to sit, stay, walk by my side, come when I actually called. I’m a bit of an Oscar Mattison so it was easier to teach him not to fuck with my shit then it was to teach me to pick up after myself. He didn’t even tear up the trash. I could leave him in the house, when a full trash can and he would not touch it. Even if I left something tempting in it.
I hate the fact that I was not there for him during the moment that he needed me the most. I hate the fact that he died alone. I loved my puppy.
Every now and again I feel like I should get a new dog, but I’m not sure that I’m ready. If I did get another one I would want to get another Rottweiler. I even have the name set aside for him. No, it’s not Obama. I don’t need people wondering if my dog is Muslim and it preventing him from running for president of the National Kennel Club. Nope, I’d name my new dog Othello. How cool is that? But, no, I can’t replace Roscoe and I don’t think I’m ready to let another dog into my heart.
Plus, I am still contemplating paying off this damn house in two years. I was going to do it this year, but since I have a lot of things planned for next year, if God says the same. For example, Manny turns four in June and I want to start our tradition of an annual trek to Disney Land. Plus, since I took the older syblims to New York two years ago for their birthdays. Next year I want to take the twins. We would have done it this year, but Duce didn’t have a job and he needs to be able to pay for his own shit while out there. So, I’m going to wait until January 2010 to pay this bad boy off. Wish me luck. Maybe by then I’ll be ready to bring a new puppy into my life.
For now, I am truly alone.
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
It’s amazing. Homeboy is totally in sync with this chorography. I ain’t mad at him; the guy has much talent. I am mad that he still lives at home with his mom and had to lock his bedroom door while he taped the version of this that ended up on you tube. If you listen carefully, on that one, you can hear his mother yell, “Shane, you better not be dancing to another fucking Beyonnce video!”
He probably got laid after this video. I bet he has an enlarged cliterous too. LOL! Yeah, that was just wrong, but I couldn’t resist.
But seriously, the man is hella talented. The fact that he was able to teach himself all those steps is amazing to me. It also tells me that his ass doesn't have a job!
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.
First of all this bastard…bitch…bastard….bitch…bast….oh forget it…This B word knew damn well that they were going to get publicity when they said that his as was pregnant! Stop playing. (Homeboy made that statement in another clip, about being shock at the amount of publicity they were getting.)
Still, I am so confused and I thought I was getting it, up until today. Hell, I was neither shocked nor disturbed by the fact that he was pregnant, once I realized that he was born a she. Hell, I took biology, I know that a woman can get pregnant if all her factory parts work correctly. Nor was I shocked when I found out that he was pregnant again. Although if you were looking at the View when Barbara Walters made the announcement….The whole study audience let out a collective gasp. You would have thought she’d said the dude was pregnant with a litter of kittens. Seriously. Hell, I was offended.
However, this comment on Larry King truly shocked my ass. Up until today I was not the least bit concerned with how these two individuals got their booty on. Hell, what two consented adults due in the privacy of their own house, motel room, whatever, is their own business. I honestly don’t understand why people getting up perturbed about what other people do with their private parts. That being said….ewwww! I’m sorry. Your boy is as open minded as they come, except when I am being racist or bigoted, but come on. An enlarged cliterous? Really? That shit just sounds painful. And just how enlarged is your citreous that you can have intercourse with it, as if it was a penis? It makes you wonder if it is uncomfortable for him to wear pants.
Seriously, is it just me, because that statement kind of freaked my ass out a little bit. I mean, I thought I knew what a cliterous was and what it looked like and what it’s function was, but I gotta tell you; my ass went on a cliterous hunt. I was all up in Google, blowing up pictures of cliterouses and shit. Maybe I had a misunderstanding of what I was looking for, after all, I don’t own one myself, although there is this sex shop…..
Hell, to me this statement was the equivalent to me saying, “Hey, baby, although my penis no longer works we can still have intercourse using my enlarged sphincter muscles, I know. I know. That’s just ignorance on my part, but still. A enlarged cliterous? And then they looked at Larry King’s ass like he was insane for not knowing that they had sexual intercourse with homeboy’s enlarged female genitalia. And then, so funny, Larry King’s ass was like, “Uh, I didn’t know that.” WHO THE HELL DID? LOL.
-One Man's Opinion. Peace.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Last week I took my nephew to see Madagascar 2, which is really not appropriate for children, I might add. It is funny though, so I can make allowances. Plus, at three, a lot of it went over Manny’s head. However, don’t get it twisted, because I know how intuitive (or should I say impressionable) children are, especially this little boy.
Did I ever tell you good people the story of when Manny was about two years old and I noticed that he had a stuttering problem? Yeah? Oh, well, some of you might not remember it and I don’t recall telling it so I’m gonna recant it. When Manny was about two years old and really learning to put words together I was over to the house feeding him. I was trying to have what passes for a conversation with my little nephew and I noticed that he had developed a stuttering problem. I mean it was a bad problem too. When you asked him something, his eyes would roll back and he would struggle to get the words out.
Well, as luck would have it, I’d had a class on child abuse and learned how sometimes stuttering can be triggered by a traumatic event. Now, since I spent enough time with my nephew to know that this was not his everyday speech pattern, I realized that something had to be going on. So, I confronted my little sister and asked her what traumatic event had befallen my little nephew that was causing him to stutter. She told me nothing. I was like, No, not nothing because he didn’t use to stutter and now he does. What occurred within the week or so since last I saw him that would cause him to stutter?
She stood by the fact that there was no event that had occurred that would traumatize my nephew and cause him to be stuttering like he was. So, I let it go. After all, she was around her son pretty much 24/7 and knew him better than I did. Well, a couple of hours passed by and my sister comes to me with the revelation on where Manny had learned to stutter.
You see, when Manny was at this age his mom use to work in a barbershop. Being a single mom and not always having someone to leave her son with, she would oft times take Manny to work with her. She told me that there was one occasion that the shop was watching The Kings of Comedy and she caught Manny also paying close attention to the comedy styling of Bernie Mac. It had not dawned on him, until that exact moment that this was the reason why he was stuttering. It was funny too, because as I watched him I could actually see him mimicking Bernie Mac’s ever mannerism in that part of his comedy routine. It was still scary and I was afraid that he would have allowed that to become a permanent part of the way he spoke. However, once mommy realized that was the cause of the stuttering she nipped that shit in the bud. She made him cut that shit out and popped his little tail when he did it. Not exact Parenting 101, but it worked. LOL
Anyway, Manny, my Mom and Me went to see Madagascar 2 last week, but I think I enjoyed it more than both of them. Not saying that Manny didn’t enjoy it, but while we were waiting for the movie to start they showed the preview for Bolt and he decided that that was the movie he wanted to see. Yeah, you ain’t at home little man. Get over yourself.
Once the movie started, Manny sat in his chair, like a big boy, eating popcorn and watching the film. Now, I am not sure at what point he decided that it would be more comfortable to sit on Uncle One Man’s lap. But during the movie, he politely climbed up in my lap, kicked back, like I was his on private lounge chair, ate his popcorn and enjoyed the rest of the movie.
Now, I know some of you out there are thinking; “Aw, what a precious moment.” Whatever. I took it as his little ass saying that Uncle One Man is better cushioned than the seats in the theater. I really need to get on an exercise program, yall.
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.
Ieshia, Southern Gal, Running Mom, what did you little ones think of the movie. Ieshia and Southern Gal, I know your little men are around the same age as Manny.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Yesterday we celebrate the siblings birthdays. Yes, every one of my siblings were born in the month of November. Both my older sisters and the twins. I was the odd one out. Middle child, born in August.
I had a blast at the party. My mommy did an outstanding job. This was all her idea. However, I gotta say, it didn’t start off all that great. I took my mom to purchase the food and the birthday cakes. Mom decided on hero sandwiches and we ordered one sheet cake and four little individual cakes with each person’s name on them. I had made arrangements for my niece to pick up the cakes, since they lived down the street from the Wal-Mart, the day we ordered them. Surprise, surprise, I get a phone call from my mommy, on Friday, telling me that she needs me to go pick up the cakes because my niece want be able to. Well, that’s find, I always set up myself up to be the contingency plan. Problem was, when I go to pick up the cakes there are no cakes to be found. Where are the cakes? The ladies behind the counter are looking all over and I guess I appeared to be a bit annoyed because one apologies for upsetting me. I had to tell her I wasn’t upset at all. Anyway, they are just about to read do all these damn cakes, as I wait, when it dawns on me to call my niece to see if she picked up the cakes. Sure enough, she had. I am pissed off. Not with my niece, because she did what I asked her to do, but with my mom. Her ass is always trying to do too much and then always gets the shit backwards. Yall know I love my mom, but damn….It turned out that she hadn’t even asked my niece if she was going to be able to go and pick up the cakes. She’d just assumed that she wouldn’t be able to because she was also helping to prepare a wedding shower that day. It was actually my fault. I know my mom, I should have followed up to confirm if she know what she was talking about.
Anyway, I head over to the house where my mom and my two other nieces are already there, preparing sandwiches and decorating the house. They did a really good job. Absolutely no drama, which is always a good thing. The party starts a 5pm, and all the guest and the twins are there for the festivities. Older sister number one is not there yet, because has not left the shower that she was helping to throw for her sister-in-laws upcoming wedding. And older sister number two is not there because her my nephew, her youngest, has been arrested for his warrants and she has to go get his ass out. Now yall know my motto…Let their grown asses sit it out. PAY YOUR DAMN TICKETS!
Once everyone is there we eat, laugh, talk and play games. Spades, Dominoes and Rummikub. Here comes the drama. Yes, while mom, aunt, older sister number one and myself were playing Rummikub in the kitchen, one of my young sibling’s friends comes in and fixes herself some punch. When she exit the kitchen, I get up to fix myself some punch. How come just as I walk over to the spot where she’d just left I get the distinct aroma of reefer? Yes, folks, it was as if she’d passed gas and left a odor of marijuana behind. So, of course I am just a little pissed and I am debating if I should go see what exactly is going on outside and in the other parts of the house. After all, not only is the shit disrespectful to my mom, but we have kids at this party. So you know what I did, right? I charged their asses up and then I went outside, pulled my little brother to the side. I don’t care if his ass is thirty, and told him very nicely that he needs to make it known to his friends that they can’t be doing that shit around his mother or his law enforcement brother.
Other than that, the party was a ball and a good time was had by all. Towards the end it was just me, the twins, a guys the twins went grew up with and my little brother’s forty-three year old lover (who was drunk off her ass, I might ass). Now, I have no idea how her ass got so hammered, because there was not alcohol at this party. She eventually passed out on the sofa, leaving the rest of us to play spades and talk about the roles of black people in the world, regardless of the fact that we have a black president elect. We also song the theme songs to every sit-com known the man, which was hilarious in it’s own right. It was 3:15 in the morning, when I finally left and home girl was still out cold on my mom’s sofa.
Now, answer me this. What kind of marriage do you have where one of you can be out past three and it not be a problem? Trust me. It would be a problem for me.
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.
Saturday, November 15, 2008
Okay, things that annoy me in the phone crazy world. First I hate it when you accidentally call the wrong number and no one answer. Now, my problem is not really with someone not answering the phone when they don’t recognize the number. However, I hate it when they call back and when you answer the first word out of their mouth are; “Who this?” Motherfucker, whose THIS? Seriously, don’t call my number and ask who I am. If you wanted to know who it was you should have answered the damn phone when I called. If you didn’t know who I was when I called you the first time and I didn’t leave a message, then it probably a good chance it was a misdial and I don’t want to talk your ass. Let that shit slide.
I also hate it when does damn telemarketers call you and then put you on hold for a live person. Or worst, when they call you and play like they know who you are, thus catching you off guard so they can try to sale you something. Every now and again they might slipping, but not often. After all, it is so easy to tell when it is a telemarketer is on the other end of the line, because when you answer the phone there is always a pause on the other end, before the person response. By the time they answer they get a click. Stop trying to talk to me!
I told you all of that to lead up to the phone call I made on my cell phone,, en route to work last night. You see, back in July this young lady was involved in an accident where she had to swerve to prevent getting hit by a vehicle headed in the other direction. At least that was the story that she gave me a couple of weeks back, when I spoke to her at work. Apparently, by swerving to avoid being hit by this on coming vehicle she drove her car into a pole, causing injury to herself and the friend that were in the car with her. Well, now her friend are suing her for their medical bills and goodness knows what else.
The reason for her phone call to me, once again two weeks back, was to tell me that one of my officers had completed the accident report wrong and it needed to be changed so that her friends would not sue her. I tried to explain to her that we don’t redo accident reports from such a long time ago and even if we did, it would not prevent her friends for suing her. Hell, we live in a litigious society. Next time get some insurance that covers you and your passengers. Anyway, we go back and forth as she tells me all the things that my officer did and did not do. I told her I appreciated what she was saying, but I need to talk to my officer and get back to her.
Okay, I admit that after doing all my research, which included talking to the officers that worked the accident and then contacting an actual accident investigator to find out our policy on adding supplements to accident reports, I found out that I was completely right and thus I didn’t feel the need the call this argumentative woman back to explain what I had already explain to her in our initial conversation. Okay, yeah, that was my bad. I admit to being obligated to calling her back if I said that I would. Sue me.
So, after not hearing from me she called and spoke to my lieutenant, who told her pretty much the exact same thing I had, but he asked me to call her back and explain it to her once more. What the fuck? (This was the day before yesterday, and it was past midnight so I decided that I would call her on my way to work yesterday, at a more decent hours).
So, and it took me a hell of a long time to get to this, while driving to work I give the young lady a call on my cell phone (yeah, I hate it when people talk on the cell phone while driving too.) The phone goes directly to the chicks voice male, so I leave a message telling her who I was, why I was calling and asking her to call me at the station when she gets this message. I even gave her my name and station phone number twice.
While I am leaving this message I hear the little tone that let’s me know that someone has just sent me a text message. So, after hanging up I look and sure enough, I have a new text message. I check to see who it is from and it simply shows a phone number. I go on to read the message; “Who this?” Who this? I am puzzled for a second and then I realize that the text came from the exact person that I had just called. What the fuck? Instead of answering the damn phone, she chooses to send my ass a text to see who it is. Bitch, we ain’t friends. Answer the damn phone. Better yet, check your damn messages and find out who the hell it is. And get this. The heifer never did call my ass back. At work or on my cell phone. WHAT THE FUCK!
Anyway, that was new to me. Just thought I’d share.
-One Man's Opinion. Peace.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Okay, I know I have not posted in a while, but I couldn’t let this one slide. Today they called and woke my ass up to report to City Court. City Court is where you go for simple Class C traffic violations. They called me at nine to be there at 9:30am. Yeah, they don’t give you a chance to wipe your ass, let alone brush your teeth.
Anyway, as I am walking into the court building and heading up the various sets of stairs, to sign in for court, I run into this family of seven. We have mother, father, and the five stair step kids. Yall do know what stair step kids are, right? That’s when the kids born so close together that their difference in height is only a matter of inches. I kid you not, people. The kids had to be ages three, four, five, six and the little four to five month old strapped to his or her mother’s chest. I’m not joking about the ages either, folks. I mean homeboy was back up into mommy’s goodies before the stitches had time to heal.
So, I was walking up my first set of stairs when I run into the little clan, and they walking in a horizontal line, so I have to hug the wall to get by them (not really, but close). As I was walking up the second set of stairs I hear this thumping sound. “Clunk-ity, Clunk, Thump, Clump, Thump, Stud.” So, I run over to look over the banister when I see the four year old sprawled out on the floor, looking up at his parents. I got to give the little man credit though. He manned up and didn’t cry or anything. You have thought this kind of thing happened everyday, especially since the parents didn’t seem to react at all.
But that’s not what this post is about. The post is about the fact that once I realized the kid was alright, I had to fight to urge to laugh. I mean I literally had to bit my lip to suppress a smile, because that shit was too funny. And yes, I know that it is sick to want to laugh when someone falls down and potentially hurt themselves, but I can’t help it. Anytime someone falls down I find that shit extremely funny. I don’t care the race, gender or age. That shit is just funny to me. It’s a sickness, but it’s not my fault. I was brought up on Slap Stick humor. The Three Stooges, Laurel and Hardy, and all those other black and white comedy geniuses use to crack my ass up.
I gotta say, it’s a bit hypocritical as well. Seeing as that I am the first to wanna fight when if I fall down and someone laughs.
-One Man's Opinion. Peace.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
When my mom called to tell me that Obama had taken the election I told her that I was going to wait until the last ballot had been tallied. Then I turned the television back on the news and saw McCain give up the ghost, which was his Presidential hopes. And not only did Obama win, but he whooped that ass. I gotta admit that I felt a little bit sorry for McCain. He had to be thinking, “What if…”
You know, I am way behind on my blog readings, but I guess I don’t have to check on my fellow bloggers to see what they will be talking about tomorrow, huh. Anyway, I choose this song because it fit’s the mood and makes me wanna cry all at the same time.
I am so proud of Americans that they were able to put down their racist beliefs and take a chance on something new. But it ain’t over people Now we gotta pray even harder that they allow him not only make it to the Inaugural Ball, but give him his a shot at four years. I hope he doesn’t have to become a martyr to make a difference.
Make no mistake people. God is good. All the time.
-One Man’s Opinion. Peace.