Diary of a Queen

I could be transferred over to another division with less than 18 months into the company, per company standards, but transferring out of that division without said 18 months is now against company policy. Time to start looking around.

I think I’m OD’ed on ‘people time’. The trip up to NY a few weeks ago for work started it. Coming back home and dealing with micromanaging and endless meetings hasn’t helped. I’ve seen various people over the weekend and the more time I spent around them, the more I wanted to be by myself. It’s about that time that I retreat for a little bit. Unfortunately, with football still going strong for another three weeks (hopefully only three unless we make it to the playoffs), retreating isn’t really in the cards right now. Hopefully I can get a day or two to myself if a certain someone keeps good on their word and gets another certain someone on a weekend sometime soon (trying to be nice here). That’ll at least tide me over a little bit. I think.

Would everyone please stop using “Bringing Sexy Back” as their name, description, party promo, first born child’s name!!! This expression is ringing high on the list of 2006’s Most Overly Used Expression. Care to add to the list?

I’ve always loved that expression “I don’t have to do anything except stay black and die!” It’s a real, grimy, I don’t give a fuk statement. And it’s true. You don’t have to do anything except be whoever you are and eventually die. What else is really guaranteed in life right?

True as it is, it’s not the way you go through life. Yes, there are plenty of things that you don’t have to do. There are always options. However, there are some things that you do have to do. At least if you care about anyone you do. You have obligations to the people you care about. You have an obligation to be honest and straightforward. Why? Simple…because you care about them and their feelings, which sometime requires a sacrifice on your own part. That is, if you do actually care. Because lets be honest: I’m not obligated to tell some random chick in the club that her outfit went out of style fifteen years ago. I don’t know that chick and honestly, I’m getting a hell of a laugh out of her. Her friends, they were obligated to tell her that outfit she has on is dead wrong. But I am obligated to tell the man that I care about that he no longer makes me happy. Why? Because I care about that person as much as I care about myself and their happiness is as important as my own. And so I owe him the respect of fulfilling my obligation to him.

I’ll never understand why more people don’t see life that way. Everyone has their selfish moments; I am the first to admit that I have my own. But having selfish moments and being a selfish person is by far not the same thing. Obligations are an unavoidable part of life. Parents, siblings, friends, lovers, you are obligated to do right by them as they are to you. Sure you don’t have to do anything except stay black and die, but in the long run, how far is that going to get you in life?

Ive never be one to describe myself as fragile or delicate. But you know what they say…never say never right.

Stress = Urges to shop incessantly

Not a good thing…lol

There are some days you pray for God to take the murderous thoughts out of your head. Today is one of those days.

Tonight I fully realized why I had been keeping my distance from MySpace. I joined a few weeks ago because I kept hearing about different artists on there whose music I really like, but couldn’t hear without joining. So I found myself creating my little page, of course I adding a little music because we all know music makes my world go ‘round. Now I knew I’d spend the first week having fun with it. It was like a new toy. “Ooohh lemme see who I know that I can find” So my friends list grew with people I know and with people that in one way or another could possibly, maybe ‘let me just keep you in the back pocket’ be beneficial from a business standpoint. I lined up my top 8 list just because I thought it was a cute concept and my interest died after a week as I knew it would. I get on now just when I get some kinda notice from them.

Avoiding a writting assignment tonight, I decided to go play around on there. All the guys in my top 8 are guys that are high on my list of ‘cool as hell’ folks. At least one person on there would be quite surprised to hear that…lol As I am clicking around one of the guys pages, I look at the types of chicks that they have as friends or who comment on their pages. And it hit me why MySpace is really just not my kinda place. Why in the hell do so many chicks feel the need to have their ass all over their damn page?! I mean seriously, why do these girls create entire pages devoted to their ass, or their titties (yes I said titties, so what?…lol) or their ‘corn bread fed’ shapes. It annoys the hell out of me that there is such an abundance of chicks who can’t think of anything else to say beside “Hey don’t you wish you could have some of this here?” Because on the real, that’s all they are saying. “I need attention. I need a man to make me feel sexy. Look at me and tell me how bangin’ I am.” Give me a fukkin’ break.

But it works. You see these girl’s pages and they have 20,000 friends and 4000 comments that are all men (ok and some women too) all drooling over them. And you know what, that’s cool. You know I am quick to say, “If that’s what works for you, go for it” But that doesn’t mean I condone it, think it’s what’s best for society as a whole, or the emotional being of any female. The more girls (has anyone noticed that I refuse to call these girls ‘women’?) put themselves out there in this way, the more men to treat them like the objects they are treating themselves as. Which makes it 100 times harder for women like myself who are often more attractive, carry themselves in a much respectable manner, and not at all moved by the lame ass, sex crazy, worthless men that think they are creative enough to spit some games good enough to get in the thongs and bounce. And please don’t let me have you thinking that I walk around in a sweatsuit or baggy clothing intent on covering up every inch of my own skin and I’m dogging out how these girls are acting. In no way is that the case. I certainly am a proud owner of fitting jeans, shirts, skirts, well pretty much most of what I own fits because I chose for I to. The difference between the type of chick I am talking about and the type of woman I represent is simple and clear: class and respect.

Ladies please, I know my words fall on deaf ears, but please wake the fuk up!

I wanna thank the law for what is known as the Abandonment Warrent!