Waiting To Excavate: A One-Scene Play

Friend: Do they make meds for "Shiftless Negro Syndrome?"
Me: No. Scientists are too busy trying to control our wombs to worry about that.
Friend: I need them up out my uterus. They can work on that.
Me: All the way out.

Me: *walks into uterus, sees a bunch of scientists, clergy, and politicians* "Umm, hello? Do I know you? How'd you get in here?"
Them: "The door was open..."
Me: BULL. SHIT.
Them: "It's for your own good"

Friend: *smh*

Me: (as Bernadine) "GET YO SHIT... GET YO SHIT, AND GET THE FUCK OUT!"

Friend: O_O!!! You know she set shit on fire after that.
Me: Mhmm. I'm OK with that. I already had babies.

*smooches...ready to bring this show to Congress*
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they'll give me the floor, right?

Food Is My Drug: A Healthy Jaded Update

It's only a matter of time before I overdose. And by overdose I mean get diagnosed with something like diabetes or high blood pressure or death. Then I'll really have something to be all upset and mopey about.

Last time I got on a scale, maybe a month ago, I was 200lbs. TWO HUNDRED. Folks, this is not a drill. This is not a joke. Jaded is 200lbs of jiggly fat. And it's all settled in her stomach (boooo!) and tits (oh for fuck's sake!) and ass (finally!).

Booty-licious BUT that stomach, tho!

I cannot stop eating. It's like a vicious cycle: I eat these bad foods with additives that make me crave more bad foods with more additives and when I stop all I can think of is I NEED MORE BAD FOODS WITH ADDITIVES. I'm thinking about it right now. Right now. I'm imagining crispy fried chicken. Or homemade tortilla chips and guac. A trough of guac. And fries. I want all of it. I NEED all of it.

"When's the baby due, Raquel?"

And I know it's the food that has me too sluggish to go work out, keeping me from focusing on my work, writing or relationships. My finances are struggling. I'm finding it hard to "give a fuck." That's what additives do. They're the drug that makes you not care about anything. And I want to care because look at me. LOOK AT ME! I'M HIDEOUS!! I'M A FUCKING WHALE!!!

I look like a block of cheese. Gov't cheese.

I have a plan in place. In my head. Someone come over here and drag me to the gym to execute it, and while you're add it, delete my Seamless account?

This is an official cry for help. Thanks!

*smooches...wondering how long before heart attack*
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it runs in my family. I swore I wouldn't be next. but now, who knows?

FML: A Healthy Jaded Update

So real quick because I'm SICK of my body being sick... the latest BS my body is putting me through is a vitamin B₁₂ deficiency, which is baffling my doctor because I eat animal protein all day, every day, and supposedly that's where we naturally get this particular vitamin from.

Of course I look up what could happen if I just WELPSIES this information away, and WebMD was all

Apparently a severe deficiency can lead to deep depression, paranoia and delusions, memory loss, incontinence, loss of taste and smell, and more, according to this article. CHILD, why am I ALREADY suffering from most of those things?!?! I swear, someone is playing a cruel, cruel joke on me...

Next stop on this crazy train I call the Jaded Health Express: an upper endoscopy. More on that hot mess later.

*smooches...wondering how long 'til BETTER*
----------
it has to be soon, right?

Thoughts On Infidelity

I just watched Things Never Said, a film about a spoken word artist struggling to find her voice. In it she's married to a man who hits her and barely cares about her poetry. There are more layers to their relationship but I'll only give you that tidbit for now. Over the course of the film, the woman meets another poet and begins an affair with him. Again, there are more layers to this cinematic version of what infidelity looks like, but I won't go into more details because it was a pretty good movie despite the annoying messages (and spoken word poetry featured), and maybe you'll want to see it.

I'm only using it to set up the point I want to make about infidelity, which is this: Things Never Said tried to convince me that the way this woman and the poet she cheated with became involved was complicated and difficult and there were grey areas that contributed to her infidelity. But I'm calling bullshit on all of that, because infidelity is very black and white. You either cheated or you didn't. There's no grey area about that plain fact.

In the face of challenges and obstacles and plain ol' everyday life, we have choices to make. Do we run out of the house without breakfast OR make breakfast and be a little late to work? Go to bed early and finish your paper in the morning OR pull an all-nighter and sleep in the next day? Sneak some extra cookies during snack OR obey your mom when she says you can only have two? And each of these choices have results and consequences: eat poorly at lunch because you skipped breakfast OR hear it from your boss because you were late? Give up those precious extra moments in the morning to finish your work OR deal with the ramifications of skipping class the next day? Get your rewards now OR lose your mom's trust?

When people say things like "I didn't have a choice" what they really mean is "I made the choice that benefited me at the time" or "I made the choice with the easiest path according to my id."

Infidelity is a choice you make to appease whatever basic need you perceive yourself to be lacking, and it's WRONG because you're making this choice at the expense of two other people--the person you've pledged fidelity to and the new person who thinks they're going to get all of you. Cheating is cheating is cheating. I don't care if your partner abuses you, ignores you or just bores you to death. Cheating is cheating is cheating. And if your partner is so awful then LEAVE** already.

By choosing to cheat, you're denying your significant other the full scope of your relationship and not allowing them to make an informed decision as to whether or not they want to be with you. You're being 100% selfish and cowardly.

My stance during my marriage and even after it ended has always been "If you feel the need to cheat, just leave." Clearly you no longer love or respect the person you're with if you think it's OK to break their trust, and I don't know about you but I don't want to be with someone who doesn't love or respect me. Just leave.

Besides, what kind of person starts a new relationship with drama and unpacked baggage? Don't be that way.

Also, movies and TV shows that glorify this shit make me so...GRRRRRR! Yes, even "Scandal." I want to punch Olivia and Fitz in their stupid faces SO DAMN MUCH.

*smooches...trying to make sure y'all get into heaven*
-----------
last I checked adultery was still a sin, dawg.

**Please note this post deals with infidelity. Obviously I know some people can't leave a relationship for many reasons. I'm saying if you're in it, you're in it, and cheating is still cheating no matter how you paint it.

I'm Just Going To Stop Wishing

"...the devil doesn’t come dressed in a red cape and pointy horns. He comes as everything you’ve ever wished for..." -Tucker Max, Assholes Finish First

*smooches...still wishing a motherfucker WOULD, though*
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I could never give that up

And Now The Real Work Begins: A Healthy Jaded Post

So remember around Christmas when I hurt my back and found out it was because an angry, toothy alien was residing in my spine and was manipulating my body like a puppet master? And I had to go to physical therapy and not work out on my own?

Right, so I decided to use all of that as an excuse to gain back a whole bunch of weight and eat a bunch of bad-for-me foods while not giving an iota of a fuck. I went from being in the low 170s to almost back in the 190s. It's truly a sad state of affairs.

Obviously there are other factors at play here that are hardly any of your business, but the fact remains that I'm a whale. A WHALE. A MOTHERFUCKING WHALE. And it's all my fault (although seamless.com, Domino's pizza and Netflix had something to do with it, too).

So I had to go back to basics, the things that worked for me the first time around. Enter my former personal trainer, Bryan Ortiz aka the Brooklyn Bad Ass, and his special brand of torture-disguised-as-fitness.

While I cried for Jesus, Bryan pointed & laughed & took pictures.

There's a long goddamned road ahead of me. I'm going to be stank, bitter, irritable and just downright nasty for at least six weeks as I retrain my brain and my body to embrace a healthy lifestyle again. And then I'm going to whine and cry and mope and overturn your desks and coffee tables in frustration. But eventually, I'll get back to normal. Whatever that is. Maybe.

You might want to steer clear of me until sometime after Halloween. Or Christmas, 2014.

*smooches...dreaming of pizza and cookies and gummy bears*
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OH MY!

Bikini Summer?: A Healthy Jaded Update

Where to even begin? Last time we spoke I shared my MRI results with you and the fact that I was told to go to physical therapy to fix my back. I've been going (UGH!) but I've not found my groove yet and neither has the therapist. Frankly, this whole process is going way too slow for me. Every week I ask "Can I work out on my own yet?" and every week he laughs and says "Maybe in a few weeks." It's been a few weeks and still my gym membership is on pause. Fucking-motherfucking-fuck!

I did get a maybe on yoga, but he added that I should avoid any of the forward bends. (Well, there goes my social life. RIM SHOT. PUN INTENDED!!!) But, errr, isn't 50% of yoga forward bends? What would be the point of going? And there's still a definite NO on personal training and HIIT workouts, and a "change of subject" when I asked about socacize. PHYSICAL THERAPY IS THE DEVIL'S HANDIWORK AND IS RUINING MY WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE. There, I just needed to get that out.

The better news is my eating has been okay. Not great, but I've not resorted to eating McDonald's again. I'd say that 80% of the time I'm eating well and clean and healthy. That other 20% happens when I'm stressed or PMSing or I've breathed in oxygen; these things trigger my desire for Haagen Dazs, pizza, wings and chicken mole tacos from Maya Taqueria on Vanderbilt. OH MY GOD I want one right-the-fuck-now! Sorry, I'm supposed to be focusing on the good.

I'm still making sure I eat breakfast most days; about 99% of the time. Today was the first day I bought take out at work in over a month (and it was just $3.50 for two pieces of jerk chicken and five pieces of plantains from Christie's on Flatbush...although I was so tempted to get a chicken patty with coco bread!). And I've almost completely stopped shopping at Foodtown in order to get fresher food at Trader Joe's. I feel okay about these changes (which seem to have become permanent changes) but I know I could be doing more.

And of course I need to be doing more in terms of eating right because my Nazi physical therapist won't let me train hard. He's all "I'm going to put this on the lightest weight and just give me ten reps real slow." ARGH!! HULK SMASH! I don't even break a sweat! I have to resort to putting the warm-up bike on a super-high resistance and "gunning it" just to feel like I did something. All that beautiful gym equipment and I'm in the therapy room doing pansy-ass leg lifts. LEG LIFTS!

Listen, I'm going away for my birthday, to a place where the sun shines so bright and makes you so happy to be alive. And all I wanted for my birthday was to be able to rock a bikini on the beach like a true badass, as a precursor to playing mas in the West Indian Day parade. This past weekend, I even bought the stupid bikini, and it looks okay as long as I stretch my torso, suck in my gut and never breathe, eat or sit. If I can do that I'll be the sexiest bitch in purple EVER.

This photo was Take-100 because I had to make sure and
give you the illusion of a fit Jaded body!

But I wanted to look MORE than okay and time is already running out. YES, I should just follow the therapist's orders and NO I shouldn't be so worried with my looks and instead focus on being healthy, but you know what? I DON'T CARE.

Don't be fooled, folks- I'm in this for the bragging rights. For the pure pleasure of making bitches cry when I walk in the room looking fabulous. If I can bench-press your mom or run up the steps at West 238th Street in Riverdale and not get winded as a result of working out, well, that'd be a nice cherry on top. But on the real? I just want to look fly!

*smooches...having a Come To Jesus meeting with myself*
----------
the good thing is, I still understand that it will take hard work to look and feel great; no easy outs for me. but sometimes, I do wish there was a pill...

But We Will Survive In This World Of Competition

I want to apologize for skipping inspirational Friday last week; I hope you were able to get through the weekend and this whole week without it. And now it's back so rejoice and yell it from the mountaintops: Jaded is back with more motivation to help you through the tough times!

So let me tell you about my current tough-time situation: some lowlife loser is using my social security number to work illegally in this country. I know, I know, it's probably some poor unfortunate soul that came to America to make a better life for his families, BLAH BLAH BLAH. How about if it's one of Al-Qaeda's cousins going through my garbage or keying into my apartment, how would you feel then? Listen, I get it- many of the immigrants that are here without papers were probably in a bind and needed to leave wherever right away and just want to live life. BUT when you cross the line and do illegal and rude shit like STEALING someone's identity? Yeah, you are now seriously persona non grata. I don't care about your back story, son. I will hunt you down and shut down your whole world.

This is pretty much the last thing I want to deal with right now or ever. I have stories to write, kids to raise, events to plan and a pesky nine-to-five that interrupts my daily, 24-hour nap to worry about. Identity theft is just...UGH.

However this is the world I live in and this is what's happening to me right now and sitting back and ignoring it will not solve the problem. Jean-Pierre Carlos Mohammed Gupta will not be allowed to continue this charade much longer. This latest obstacle is just more proof that one cannot be idle and let life happen. We must grab the bull by the balls and say "HEY! Stop trampling my rose garden you clumsy, uncouth riffraff!"

I'm just going to take a few deep breaths and then dive into the situation. It's what grown-ups do. It's what you should do with your current obstacles, too. Hopefully Bob will help us remain calm along the way.



*smooches...hoping I don't have to kill somebody*
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I've never snapped a human neck but I'm sure I could enjoy it.

My Kids Are Not My Whole Life

So, news broke today about a nanny who allegedly stabbed two kids under her care in the family's Upper West Side apartment. While reading the article online I made the dire mistake of reading the comments/reactions to the story, and let me tell you...a lot of these judgy motherfuckers need to go somewhere. In particular the folks who are BLAMING THE MOTHER for having the audacity to hire a nanny in the first place.

Have several seats and a large tumbler of shut the fuck up. Please and thank you.

It does not matter if I have all the money in the world or barely two nickels to rub together- if I want to hire someone to help me take care of my kids, OR RAISE THEM FOR ME, that's my damn prerogative. The nerve of people to think this woman deserved to have her children murdered because she was what they perceived to be a spoiled, kept woman who handed off motherly duties to the hired help... WHO DOES THAT?

Do people really think that giving birth means your entire existence has to revolve around your kids now? Moms & dads can't have outside, non-kid interests? It's just house arrest until the college years? Fuck outta here with all that noise! If that were the case, do you realize how many parents would kill the kids themselves?

Listen up because I'm about to break it down for you.

YES, when you decide to have children, those children are your responsibility. You have to think of their best interest and arm them with the tools they'll need later in life. But do you know what's in a child's best interest? To have happy parents. Parents who've had enough respite to deal with whatever fresh hell the world (and their kids) will throw at them each day. Sometimes that means finding someone to mind the kids while pursuing a rejuvenating activity or some adult/nekkid time with your partner (don't forget your partner, ever; that's a sure-fire way to end up in divorce court. Trust.), away from the stress of diapers and whining and Nick Jr.

So let's focus on getting justice for these two children and not hate on this woman because she was able to afford an Upper West Side life, okay? I mean, two of her kids were just KILLED, for chrissake! She's a human being with feelings!

I swear, man, that keyboard courage be a bitch sometimes...

*smooches...vowing to never again read comments on news articles*
---------
now that all that's been said, can we please address the fact that this nanny is Dominican? UGH, BITCH, UGH!! Just ruining life for the rest of us!

Wherein I Complain About The Election

I'm going to make this quick because I'm making myself physically ill worrying about what's happening around me, and the last thing I need is another reason for my liver to stop working properly.

As a rule, I don't trust politicians. Most of the time, they're in the business of getting or staying elected and rarely have time to actually keep their empty promises. I voted in the last election because I was beyond done with what Bush and his cohorts had done. I didn't particularly care for Obama but McCain was just more "Bush" and I couldn't get behind that.

This time around, and in the last four years, the climate in this country has been an embarrassment. The campaign season has been filled with kindergarten-style antics and finger pointing on both sides and I'm done. But what's really troubling is the BLATANT attack on a sitting president because he is Black. And don't come at me and say I'm being too sensitive or it's not true. I call BULLSHIT on all your reasons and excuses.

Whenever I hear a Romney supporter say they're ready to get "a REAL American and a REAL patriot" back in the office, all I see is "GET THAT FUCKING NIGGER OUT OF THE WHITE HOUSE." It makes me so angry that I can't even describe what comes over me except that I can't focus and my breathing becomes labored and without even realizing it I clench my jaw and ball up my fists.

This can't be the same America I used to be proud to be from! For a trillion years it's been OK for a White man- who doesn't represent ME- to hold the office, but now that it's a Black man who doesn't represent "them" it's World War III. Well kiss my ENTIRE ass.

Either man the fuck up and say what you really mean, or swallow this bitter pill and have a seat. Either way, know that I'm on to you. I can read between the lines and decode your hidden agendas.

I'll see you at the polls.

*no smooches...that is all*
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really considering whether to "love it or leave it"

Insurance Won't Cover What I Need: A Healthy Jaded Post

Normally these updates deal with my fitness journey, include a photo of my ever-expanding jelly-belly and list whatever Challenge Of The Week I'm involved in to get a better body. Today, however, I'm discussing my journey to get right on the inside.

So we already know my uterus and surrounding lady parts are acting a fool (you can read about that here); it's annoying and sad and annoying. Yes, annoying TWICE. What's worse is that the alternative treatments I want and need (you know, as opposed to letting some butcher get all up in my nether parts and remove perfectly good organs) is not covered by insurance. Namely, the services of a naturopathic doctor.

In case you're not hip to the latest in new-agey lingo, the American Association of Naturopathic Physicians defines their beliefs and members as such:

"Naturopathic medicine is based on the belief that the human body has an innate healing ability. Naturopathic doctors (NDs) teach their patients to use diet, exercise, lifestyle changes and cutting edge natural therapies to enhance their bodies’ ability to ward off and combat disease."

This is right up my alley.

But when I finally found an ND that I thought would be perfect (given reviews, etc), I find out that she, and other NDs in New York, are not covered by medical insurance. BY LAW. Because they aren't allowed a medical license. What the fuck, Cuomo?? Why not?!?! (Click HERE to sign a petition to change all this.)

It was a setback I wasn't prepared for. I had to cancel the appointment I made because it was just too costly and sought out a highly-praised MD in Chinatown that boasts the use of "holistic treatments" for patients. Thankfully, after I found this magical Chinese doctor, the ND wrote me back and offered me a lower fee on a sliding scale. HOT DIGGITY DOG!! Clearly, there are still amazing and generous people in this world. This ND knows nothing about me except that some evil OB/GYN is threatening my uterus and she wants to help.

So now I have an appointment with the ND and then next month I see the MD. All three of us will come up with a comprehensive solution to this annoying (times three!) problem of mine...and then in ten years I can start enjoy (NOT) menopause in peace!

*smooches...learning more about red tape than I ever wanted to*
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thank goodness the issue isn't more serious...damn HMO!

"I Sell My Soul But At The Highest Rates."

I could add a whole bunch of other words to introduce this video, and then follow-up with an comprehensive litany on the ins and outs of my life as a freelance writer and the mistakes I've made in knowing my own worth and that of my words, but dude right here (Harlan Ellison, writer; The Twilight Zone, The Outer Limits, Babylon 5)? He got this.



*smooches...deciding today- no more freebies*
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I think I've earned the right to charge for services. EDITORIAL SERVICES, pervs! smh

When Life Tests You

This morning I forced myself out of bed at 7am to shower and prep for work. I wanted to get in super early and knock out a few assignments that are best completed when the office is empty. To cut back on prep time I decided to take with me a protein shake for breakfast and an apple with almond butter for a snack. I lovingly mixed coconut water, a banana and a scoop of vanilla whey protein in my mini-blender and told myself, "Drink it when you get in while you're finishing the exhibition labels."

I woke the babies up, gave instructions for the day, told them I loved them and walked out the door at 7:45am ready to make Wednesday great.

Life, however, had other plans.

When I stepped out of the subway I felt a drop of something fall on my leg but I ignored it and continued walking along 7th Avenue. The the bus came and I decided to hop on, only to feel a great big drop of something wet when I placed my bag on my lap and sat down. Yeah, you guessed it- my entire bottle of breakfast shake had overturned and spilled out onto my belongings in my bag and was leaking out the bottom.

Everything was soaked: my manuscript; files I'd brought home from work; my dayplanner; Post-It Notes where I'd written semi-important dates and information; MY USB DRIVE WITH DIGITAL COPIES OF EVERYTHING I'VE EVER WRITTEN; and my already almost dying iPod mini. Soaked. And reeking of banana and vanilla. And sticky beyond belief. It wasn't even 9am.

HELLO, WEDNESDAY!

Once in the office, I cleaned up as best I could and asked K to bring me a new bag later on. And even though I could feel my cramps kicking in (oh yes, my period had just arrived as I desperately tried to wipe all the traces of banana from my USB drive!), I popped two Advil (which I never do but felt it was necessary today) and was ready to start my day.

When the office manager arrived and said she was going to the cafe to get breakfast I said, "You know what? Me, too. My breakfast was ruined and I deserve a sinful treat." Downstairs at the counter I asked simply: egg and cheese on wheat toast, no butter. As the guy began to write down the simplest of orders I should have known this wasn't going to go well. Turns out he was the only one there this morning, taking orders, taking money and cooking, too.

He mixed my order up with someone else's and when she brought it back he tried to hand that manhandled sandwich to me. Insert the stankest of cramps-induced side eyes here. After all was said and done, I had been waiting nearly 30minutes for a simple sandwich that I hope and pray he didn't rub on his ass crack or spit in.

It was now 10:30am and I was late for creative review. This was how my day began.

But as I'm typing up this crazy-yet-docile diatribe for all of you to have a good laugh at the Jaded NYer with sticky hands and a distinct banana smell, the sun is shining through my office window and I have a lunch date with Irene and my babies.

What's a little spilled shake when you're alive and employed and loved?

*smooches...looking at the silver lining*
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of course I would not be this chipper if my USB drive had not survived the ordeal. nosireeBOB; this would be an entirely different post, for sure.

How The Kardashians Pissed Off This Dominican

"Keeping Up with the Kardashians" is my trash TV guilty pleasure. There, I've said it. I relish in all their crappy, fake problems and eat it up like an endless batch of delicious Buffalo wings. I also indulged in the spin-offs and specials; basically, whatever they televise I WILL WATCH. Don't judge me.

The latest episode, however, had me questioning whether or not I can continue to support their shenanigans. Why? Because they kept botching up the name and "image" of my beloved motherland!

FIRST OF ALL the entire clan kept referring to DR as The Dominican. *side eye* Last I checked, we were still a republic and it was reflected in our country's name.

SECONDLY, during scene changes, etc, they kept playing mariachi music and talking about going to snack on some chips and guacamole. *double side-eye* Listen here, non-Latinos, because I'm about to explain something to you once and for all:

DOMINICANS ARE NOT MEXICANS. MEXICANS ARE NOT PUERTO RICANS. PUERTO RICANS ARE NOT VENEZUELAN. VENEZUELANS ARE NOT PANAMANIANS. And so on and so forth. Yes, we all speak Spanish but each country is different, has different roots, a different history and even a different way of bastardizing the Spanish language. You can't just lump us together all the time and expect that shit to go over well, RYAN SEACREST (yes, I blame him. We all know he's the puppetmaster behind this bullshit).

Now, I'm gonna watch the rest of the season ONLY BECAUSE Khloe and Lamar cancelled their show and I'm obsessed with them and I hope to see glimpse of them in future episodes. Still, the Kardashians are officially on Jaded Alert!

*smooches...tired of TVs racial agenda*
---------
that's right, I SAID IT! TV has a racial agenda and I won't stand for it anymore...right after this season of "Keeping Up with the Kardashians"...

A Mother Is Not A Father And A Father Is Not A Mother

Father's Day is coming up and unfortunately that means that all over Black Twitter and Black Facebook, some single mothers will be on some ol' "It's my day, too, because I'm his mother and his father!"

Ma'am. Sit allllll the way down.

Unless you are able to produce and contribute sperm cells in the life-creating process, you are NOT a father, regardless of what your household duties are. Hard as you may work, all you are is a single mother who doesn't have a male role model/father figure in your child's life. This is not to discredit all you do for your child; this is to smack some reality up in you.

You cannot be a father. There are things that only a man can teach his children. Please just accept that and move on with your life. No need to sully the day for real dads with your bitter feelings toward your baby daddy. There are quite a few men who take their job as dad very seriously and your encroachment of their day is rude and annoying.

And fellas, please note that this same sentiment applies to you. Regardless of how useless or ratchet or just plumb not there your baby momma is, you are NOT a mother and will never be. Again, there are some things that only a mother can teach her children and you don't have it.

Men and women are DIFFERENT. We just are. And each of us brings something unique to the parenting table. Enjoy your role and work it to the max and your child will have a fighting chance in life.

Besides, as The F$%k-It List so eloquently put it:

"How about: this is a made up holiday and maybe the focus should be put on parents that do what they need to the other 364 days a year."

Amen, sister. A-MEN!

*smooches...knocking multiple chips off of multiple shoulders*
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I'm sure my opinion won't be popular but whatever. deal with it.

Irrational Thought Of The Day: Fuck Matt!

So I'm on the phone catching up with a friend and he mentions a news article about an Olympic archer named Matt Stutzman...who just happens to have been born without arms. The normal person would, of course, hear about Matt and think, Wow! That's so inspirational. He's amazing!

Well I'm Raquel. I'm not normal. And FUCK MATT!

Why? Because I was born with all my necessary parts in perfect working order, brain firing on all cylinders and above average beauty and intelligence (SHUT UP!!). And what have I done with my 37 years on this planet? A whole lot of motherfucking NOTHING!

"Raquel, you haven't made your first million yet? Well did you hear about this dude, Matt Stutzman, he's an archer with NO ARMS and he's going to the Olympics! Fuck you doing with YOUR life?"

Matt, you make me sick!

*no smooches today...go ask MATT to kiss you*
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I can't explain why this was my reaction; it just was.

Some Of My Issue With Cabbies: An Overdue Jaded Rant

Let me let you in on a little secret about me: I have a severe dislike of mediocrity and ineptitude. People who do things half-assed or sloppily or lazily turn me into the Incredible Hulk, smashing shit left and right. Since moving back to Brooklyn in 2006, more often than not, I've experienced many a HULK SMASH moment with this City's cab drivers.

I guess what upsets me the most is this- if I'm about to spend all this extra money for a taxi, I need my experience to be worry-free. If the train acts up well, guess what? You get what you pay for ($2.25). That's to be expected; the NYC MTA is janky and we all know this. But if I'm shelling out well over the cost of a MetroCard swipe for door-to-door service, at the very least I need my driver to know how to get to my destination. BECAUSE THAT'S HIS GODDAMN JOB.

I become so annoyed when I give an address (with cross streets, borough and neighborhood for accuracy) and the driver says "How do I get there?" Sir, are you for real? If I tell you I need to get to East 41st Street and forget to mention it's in East Flatbush and you take me to Manhattan, that's my bad. NYC is a big place and many street names are repeated throughout. But if I gave you the general area then it's not unreasonable for me to expect you to know how to get there.

Here's how it usually goes down when I get into a cab:

ME: Hi, I'm going to [insert random address here]

CABBIE: (repeats address back to me and stares off into space) Ummm, where is that?

ME: [insert borough or neighborhood plus a landmark just in case]

CABBIE: (repeats what I just said and starts to drive off slowly) Ummm...so which way should I go?

ME: Listen, if you don't know how to get there just let me out and I'll find someone who does!

I am not your map or your GPS. Your freakin' job is driving people to destinations around the City so please, for the love of my blood pressure, KNOW HOW TO GET AROUND!

Then, of course, we have the issue of cost. Yellow cabs aren't a problem in that regard because there is a meter and whatever the meter says is bible law. But these damn Gypsy cabs and their arbitrary pricing...I haggle and argue all the time because give me a freakin break! Brooklynites, help me out here: it should not cost $20 to go from Atlantic Center to my neighborhood (Greenwood/Kensington) if it costs LESS THAN THAT to go from my house to Bed-Stuy or Williamsburg! (For you non-Brooklyn folks, Bed-Stuy and Williamsburg are a lot further out than Atlantic Center. Wayyyy further, in fact.

Here's how that exchange goes:

ME: How much?

CABBIE: [insert insane price that I refuse to pay here]

ME: [insert Jaded stank face] I don't think so; get your dispatcher on the line and let me talk to him...

I won't even bother to single out any ethnicity in this diatribe because I think you all consider me racist enough, but just know the depending on what shade of brown I see behind the wheel, I already know some level of bullshit is about to go down and I'll have to come out my face at least twice.

All this drama just to get somewhere on time... It's enough to make a girl buy another bike!

*smooches...thinking this might be what pushes me to drive*
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the issues we suffered with cab drivers this weekend were just too much. TOO MUCH!

I Want Gerlado To Shut The Hell Up.

The problem with freedom of speech is that you have to extend the right to morons, too. This never upsets me more than when so-called journalists and people with a lot of notoriety are reckless with what they say publicly.

Last week, Geraldo Rivera tweeted that Trayvon Martin's hooded sweatshirt was as much to blame for his death as the man who shot him. That Blacks and Latinos need to warn their children about wearing the popular garment, as it may result in them being perceived as suspicious troublemakers.

First of all, I want to punch Geraldo in the face SO HARD for that statement, which, I tweeted back to him, is akin to telling a woman her mini-skirt was to blame for her rape. Are we still on this clothing shit? We're blaming the victim because he wore a garment that is worn by young men and women--of all backgrounds--across the country? A basic piece of outerwear that's meant to keep us warm in the spring and fall? Get all the way the fuck out of here, Geraldo, and have a seat.

Second, it divides us as a people, GERALDO, when you sit there trying to rep your Latino background but then do us a disservice by not acknowledging what's really going on. People who look to you (for whatever reason) might take your comment and feel like they're wrong for being upset with the system or with the shooter. Don't shame us in this way. We have a right to be outraged. A hoodie had NOTHING to do with this.

Lastly, his ignorant statement trivializes the fact that a young Black man was pursued, shot and killed by a racist, wannabe cop who targeted him for the simple fact that he was black and walking around in a gated community, even after the 911 dispatcher told him not to get out of his car.

I've always thought Geraldo was full of it. Even as a little girl the sight of his stupid, mustached face annoyed me to no ends. His latest comment (an attempt at hogging the spotlight?) just validated my initial opinion.

*smooches...tired of these pundits twisting the truth*
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y'all wonder why I don't bother with the news...

Sums Me Up Pretty Well

"I don't stop eating when I'm full, I stop eating when I hate myself." -comedian Louis C. K.

No amount of dance classes will conquer the power of salty potato chips and 1AM bagels. Fuck my life!

*smooches...pissed off with myself*
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I just want to crawl into my brain and fix whatever shit won't let me stop binging.

The Hardest Talk I've Ever Had With My Baby

Just when I thought we had this school situation settled, N is bringing home zeros for missing homework, and had a 62 on a recent social studies test. This is January; it can't still be growing pains and frankly I'm sick of it.

Right now I need to face the fact that either she's not as smart as we thought or she's having some focus issues. Clearly my initial solution of spanking her for every zero has not been a good-enough deterrent in this case. It was in the beginning but now it's not working. And spare me your theories on spanking- I believe in it and nothing you say will change my mind.

So, in my attempt to reach her, I had to give N the straight story. I have strong suspicions that one or more of her teachers are straight up racist and/or do not like her. And it was hard for me to admit this because the race card is not one I've ever pulled on anything. And I've worked in education so I know how parents can overreact, but this is not the case.

I had to explain to N that this country that she's supposed to pledge allegiance to sees her as nothing more than a stupid, lazy little black girl, and as unfair as it may be, she has to work harder to make it. It was true way back in the day and is most certainly true now. I had to explain that with so many strikes against her- race, gender, socioeconomic background- she cannot afford not even one mistake. Not. Even. One. And that every homework she misses proves "them" right. Every test she fails proves "them" right. And every time she screws up it ruins her options in life. I wanted to transfer her out of what I feel is not a good middle school fit, but what new school or enrichment program is going to take a lazy student with sporadically good grades? The Prep for Prep's of the world don't want kids whose answer to "Why isn't your homework done?" is "I didn't know I had to do it." How is she going to make National Junior Honor Society with this "zero" bullshit?

I hated having to crush Ns life bubble like that but something has to get through to her. She cannot coast through this life thinking the world is fair and she has the same opportunities as the kid sitting next to her. We all know that's the propaganda served up to us but it isn't a reality.

Uncovering the man behind the curtain was the only weapon I had left in my arsenal and I don't even know if it will work. It might just be time to accept that she's chosen her path and it isn't an academic one.

*no smooches today...motherhood has killed my happy*
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I just wish I knew how to fix this already because the stress of it all is killing me slow.