Thoughts on Technology

Now,

It is way too damn easy.
How are women (or those who take on the female gender role if you choose to do so) suppossed to keep standards? How are we to know what is good and bad when the art of courting has been watered down to nothing but a mere text message and a large popcorn at a romantic comedy. Is that suppossed to be sufficient? I am fully aware that the topic of chivalry has been discussed time and time again, but I would have to agree that chivalry is GONE mothafuggas....GOWN! Who's fault is it? It's technology's fault.
I'm sure that back in the day when we were running around loined and uncombed, there were lazy males out there who didn't do shit but sit around waiting for a saber-tooth to die instead of killing the beast themselves. AND I am sure that the ones who weren't deadbeats actually carried things for their significant others while they went on their nomadic adventures. But then came the wheel. And suddenly we had all these cave men rolling shit around--and shit just got too easy. I'm sure the cavemen I'm talking about aren't as refined as the ones who work for Geico, but even they have become victims of technology. Cavemen used to have to stand next to cave women in order for them to pick up their scent. Now, with the wheel, cavemen could rub their genitalia on the wheel and roll it down a hill for all the females to smell. The cavewomen would then leave their scent on the wheel and send it back. Anthropologists say this was an ancient form of text messaging.

Of course I am being facicious, but these "ttyls" and "lols" and "lmaos" are overused. They water down raw, human emotion into something that can be represented in an abbreviation. Males seem to think that texting is sinonmous to calling, and that calling is sinonmous with "time spent". And sadly, males think that spending time with a female is predicating some sort of wifing. And we all know that many males are not looking to wife.

Technology has served as a stiff arm for females to become complacent with having phantom boyfriends. Ones they can hear but can't see. Ones they are feeling, but can't feel. Men they know, but can't trust. So i say eff you, technology! You have destroyed the art of human interaction as we know it!

(i still dig blogs though)

He's perfect...but not my type

I have recently discovered that all nice guys are ugly. And if you are a good looking guy who thinks he's nice--then you're probably ugly too. There is this guy at my job. He's about 4 foot nothing with a gap on the top and bottom row of teeth.
Okay, am i being mean?
I apologize in advance.
He seems like a really nice person who probably knows how to treat a woman (since he looks like he's been in the biz for about 30 years) and he invited me out to lunch several times. At first he invited me out to eat breakfast because he knows that I usually enter the building really early. But I dodged his ass and went right upstairs to eat breakfast at my desk. I called him once, and his thick ass accent turned me off. Now let me segway into something here as it pertains to accents. I looove accents. I am apart of a lovely Jamaican family so I'm used to all types of accents. But if you're gonna have an accent, have a voice that's deep and robust like that dude from the Allstate insurance commercials or Barry White. Please don't come at me with a Haitian accent sounding like Mike fucking Tyson. That is such a turn off.
So with his gap + lisp + lack of height + large head + falsetto voice...i avoided his phone calls at all costs and gave him a quick friendly I-don't-want-to-talk-to-your-ass hello and kept it moving. Reflecting on my actions, I felt quite shallow as I should.

But then again...should I? Aren't looks important? They sort of ARE. You see, before this incident with the short guy, I dated this 6 foot 6, athletic, dark chocolate, long-haired, perfect bone-structure lookin-boy, who beat the crap out of me at a moment's notice. I allowed his physical attributes to excuse his iron fist clocking me any and everywhere at anytime. His abuse led to his ugliness; An ugliness I had never seen before. An ugliness that oozed from his pores with a viscous-like consistency which made my stomach churn. It was an ugliness that surpassed any physical ugliness a person could have.

Finding a happy medium between a guy who looks like T.I. and who has a heart like Steve Urkel is difficult. After all, Steve Urkel turned into a douche bag when he became "Stephan Urkel". Barack Obama comes pretty close to fulfilling both ends, but how many more Baracks are there out there? Will Smith comes pretty close too but I'm looking for someone a little more local. Hopefully the man I marry won't be too ugly. But if I had to choose between looks and personality, I'd surely choose the fugly prince charming...



as long as he had a car and some rubber band banks in his wallet.

My really good friend/non-sexual life partner

My friend Amy introduced me to this idea of having a non-sexual life partner. Essentially someone who you are attracted to, but understand that the relationship will only stand through friendship. I think this phenomenon is great and fucked up. I have a non-sexual life partner who means the world to me. We speak almost everyday, we share intimate details of our daily happenings, and we engage in deep conversations about life which probably stemmed from me talking about what I ate for lunch. The thing about non-sexual life partners (NSLPs) is that sometimes you might just wanna freakin' get sexual. Not so much because you are interested in building something with that person, but it serves as protocol. Just to GET IT OUT OF THE WAY. It is almost inevitable, especially when you and your NSLP are both attractive ass people. I have a NSLP that I actually kissed before. It was absolutely fantastic. Its a story you would tell your grandkids. It happened like it happens in movies. Speaking of movies, someone actually filmed it. BUT he and I have come to the resolution that the kiss was less about romance and more about drunken publicity. AND even though he confessed to me that he wasn't that drunk and that I was a great kisser AND I in turn told him that i wouldn't mind if it happened again--
for him, he probably just got blinded by my big ass red shiny lips that night (and felt sorry for me)
and for me, well...I hadn't kissed someone i cared about in a long time. (Mom, dad, cousin, aunt all fit in that category). And so does my NSLP. I won't say he's like my brother, because then that would rule out any possibility of the unpossible being possible. But I'll say he is my family. I am truly honored to have him in my life, and I like being in his. Everyone should have a NSLP. They give you a perspective that is explicit and sometimes harshly true. Just try to find one that is ugly. It will make the whole "being friends" thing a lot easier.

To work or not to work?

So,

My ex-boyfriend decided to call me the other day. We politicked a little bit, and then he threw me off completely. He thinks that because we are in a recession, its pointless for me to have a job. Meanwhile his broke mid-30's ass has no job, barely a place to live, and irritable bowel syndrome which costs him $30 a month for prilosec OTC. (Guess who payed for that shit when we were together?). He then continued on his ghetto rant by insulting my intelligence; telling me that my job doesn't pay enough because I don't have the latest "gear". Bitch please. I mean, he is right. Currently I dress a little on the corny side because I just graduated from college (like a real one with a campus n' shit) and I'm trying to pay off some bills I accrued trying to survive on my own. And hell yea I live paycheck to paycheck, but thats because I'm sustaining my life right now. I was so pissed off that i decided to hang up the phone on him. He told me to "hang up forever, bitch".---Then he ended up being the one to hang up first. He thankfully reminded me of why we didn't work in the first place. I don't know but I think the moral of the story is staying away from men who don't believe in jobs. I don't ask for much. All I want is a wonderful man who has a job where taxes are deducted from his pay. I'll be the first to tell you, I'm no ride or die bitch. You won't see me looking for 5-o down the street and throwing out signals. Nah. I'm good. Just work in an office. Clean a toilet. Wipe the mayor's ass. Just make sure you're contributing to the world in some way and more importantly--contributing to me.

Will he?

Soul got arms stretched out like family hugs, but marriage makes the indifferent shoulders shrug.
Vibes got waves like radio airplanes.
like Holiday reverberation, but predestined obligations produce foggy weather.
Sexual tension got cat-like claws climbing cedar trees ignoring climate's brittle breeze,
but home, career, and other shit got the curious cat's claws clipped.
Radical conversation got static cling like silk on pantyhose, but curfew ruins that because you have to Bounce.
Attraction got a white on rice affect but family photos in the wallet makes a person forget.
Curiosity got power over a breath like a sigh, but "home is where the heart is" tends to choke the relief.
I don't believe.