Not really. It'll still be here, but I got a new blog. I guess I should start blogging again...
See ya over there...
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Not really. It'll still be here, but I got a new blog. I guess I should start blogging again...
Monday, July 6, 2009
Dear Crazy Lady(ies),
Please don’t murder-suicide me. I know in the past I’ve taken your craziness lightly. I thought if anything, you would hurt yourself, but you wouldn’t do anything to me. When people told me to look out for your crazy behavior, I dismissed it like I was invincible. But believe, I get the point. You can, and will kill a brother if you feel like it. I don’t want to end up like Steve McNair. I don’t want to end up like Phil Hartman (yes, I took back like 10 years.) To put it simply, I just don’t want to die.
So, let’s do this. And this is hard for me to do. Let me apologize. I’d like to apologize for not answering the phone when you call. I’d like to apologize for not liking you like that. I’d like to apologize for NOT telling you that I love you when I don’t. I’d like to apologize for calling you a stalker to your face. I’d like to apologize for just being mean. I didn’t mean it. In retrospect, I should have done a better job of keeping you on your rocker. I should have realized that it’s my responsibility to make you un-crazy. It’s not your fault. You can’t help it that I put homicidal thoughts in your head by ignoring you. It’s all me.. My bad, crazy ladies…
In conclusion, crazy lady(ies), I don’t want to die. Please do not murder-suicide me. That won’t accomplish anything. We are not going to meet in the next lifetime. And if we do, I’m going to be pissed that you murder-suicided me. Call me stubborn, but that will have a negative effect on our fake relationship. If you just must do something drastic, can we switch this thing around and do a suicide-murder? You go first, and I’ll meet you there after a long long life with my wife and kids.
P.S. – I really don’t want to die. Put those murder-suicide thoughts out of your head please.
Thursday, July 2, 2009
I promise this is true... These are from a document that someone was passing out to the new hire training class I'm helping train. Needless to say I snatched the papers up as quickly as I could. I sent Diva an email last week with the subject line "I work with idiots..." Never more true than today... I was studying the document intently trying to find a thirteenth, but I guess I'll just have to roll with twelve today....
1. appropiate (appropriate)
2. disclousure (meant disclosure, but typed it wrong twice)
4. privasy (privacy)
5. awared (meant to be aware)
6. producktivity (for real, where did the K come from?)
7. sell (meant "sale")
8. an (meant" and")
9. and (meant "an")
10. carreer (I can almost give this one a pass based on the rest of the misspellings.)
11. transitionalize (don't ask what they were trying to say.)
12. assistants (assistance)
13.. I couldn't find another one. Darn it!!!
Yep, I work with idiots. Let me find out who came up with document and I'm going upside their head with a Funk and Wagnall's
*yes, I spelled it wrong on purpose. It's irony. Get it? LOL*
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
So, I’m at work early today doing some training. Got an hour lunch and it’s way too early for me to eat. I decided to sit in the cafeteria and watch some CNN. One table over, Jean-Bertrand Aristide (you know, cuz he’s Haitian) is sitting there talking to everybody and anybody that is in the area. I didn’t have my ipod, but I had my phone. I call Jameil, but she didn’t answer. As a result, the following conversation ensued.
Aristide: Hey, where do you live?
Aristide: I see you driving on 285, so you must live out in Stone Mountain.
Me: Tucker (not really, but close enough)
Aristide: These f*ckers are getting on my nerves.
Aristide: These bastards at (insert company I work for)
Aristide: They are playing games with my salary.
Five minutes later, he is still talking about something or other about medical leave, and wrong paychecks.
Aristide: Did that ever happen to you?
Me: Did what ever happen?
Aristide: They give you wrong pay.
Me: Nah, I never had a problem.
Aristide: You know, this is first time I hear you talk. I thought you were deaf-mute.
Me: Obviously I can talk if I’m working here.
Aristide: I don’t know… Maybe you use the machine..(imitates typing) What do you call it when deaf people use phone?
Me: The TTD machine?
Aristide: Yes, the DDT machine….
Aristide: I think they soon change dress code. The women are dressing too provocatively.
Aristide: I see this girls entire p****. (points at woman who is too close to be having this conversation)
Aristide: I think she have, what do you call it.. toe of the camel.
Me: *cracks up* Aiight, man. I’m about to go. I’ll see ya around.
Aristide: They leave nothing to imagination.
Me: *walking away* Aiight, I’m out.
Aristide: I can see the crack of…
Man, I wish people would not talk to me.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Tuesday was a jacked up day for me. It started out pretty well. Work was slow. Had tons of meetings that kept me away from any real work, but then lunch came. I started not to even move my car from the garage because it was crazy hot, and I was already sweating. But I did it anyway. When I got in the car, the leather seats were blazing, and my glasses immediately fogged up. Sweat poured from my forehead, and trickled down into my eyes, causing an uncomfortable stinging feeling. As I was pulling into the parking spot, I wiped the sweat from my eyes and bammed right into a Honda Civic. Yes, your boy hit a parked car. How careless could I be? It didn't even really cross my mind to do the wrong thing. I went to the security desk so they could find the owner of the car I hit. We filled out an incident report, then waited for the police to come. Did I mention that it was 95 degrees? Yeah, I was out in the heat, sweating like a slave. Then I had to call my insurance company and tell them what was what. After that ordeal I was a little miffed, but still okay.
Later that day, I hit the ATM that's in the dining area of the cafeteria. I pulled out my $40, and walked away. Yep, I left the card in the machine, yo! What the hell was wrong with me today? Since the machine is not attached to an actual bank, I couldn't get anyone to open the ATM to get my card either, so I'm gonna be without it for a few days. Son of a... I was just done. I was supposed to stay late to make up the hour that I missed handling business after the crash, but after that I was just like "eff it. I'm outta here."
I came home in a bad mood today. I don't like the feeling, but it doesn't usually last long. I just need some time to wallow and then I get over it. I don't think people understand that about me. Maybe because it doesn't happen regularly, people can't figure out how to take me. When I'm in a bad mood, I just want to be in a bad mood until it goes away. Cheering me up doesn't really cheer me up. Its nothing personal, its just part of my process. I'm having a bad day. I think I'm entitled to one once every couple of months. I'll be okay tomorrow. Hours of old school hip hop on YouTube is helping.
from the mind of Rashan Jamal at 1:43 AM
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
What kind of sense does it make to comment on an news/sports article by saying “who cares?” – Obviously you care or you wouldn’t have taken the time not only to read it, but to comment on it.
Now that the American Idol dude has come out, does that mean that he is going to sing songs overtly to dudes? Will he change “Mandy” to “Andy?”
Would you listen to that? If not, does that make you homophobic?
That reminds me of an old school joke me and Kareem used to have about Luther Vandross. We changed the lyrics to “Don’t you remember you told me loved me, Larry?”
I read an article about a grandfather that killed his grandson b/c he dropped his watermelon. Do you know how glad I was that he wasn’t black? Feel like I dodged a bullet there.
Anonymous sources irk me. I think unless it’s a matter of life and death, if you say something, you should be man or woman enough to stand by it.
I think women that fake rape cases should have to register as sex offenders. They make it so much tougher for real victims.
Is anybody else disturbed that Hurricane Chris’ song “Halle Berry” is about a woman old enough to be his mother? I looked it up, she’s 43 and he’s 19.
I got bored the other day and shaved my head. Apparently I missed a few spots and was looking crazy for a day.
My job blocked Yahoo email yesterday. I wonder how long before Facebook and Blogger get blocked. Hopefully, at least one of them will stay available.
I didn’t have anything to write about, so I just started writing random thoughts and now I have a post. Hopefully, certain people won’t be harassing me in my comments about its time to post again. LOL
Monday, June 8, 2009
I’ve always thought of myself as a lefty. I throw with my left hand, punch with my left hand, I would write with my left hand if my 3rd grade teacher didn’t switch me to righty. My left arm is significantly stronger than my right arm (or as Jameil calls it, my lame arm. LOL) But I didn’t realize until this weekend, how much I depend on both of my arms.
When I left work on Friday, my right shoulder was hurting. No big deal, but I couldn’t figure out why. That’s neither here nor there. As the night progressed, however, the pain was getting worse. It felt like the shoulder was dislocated or something. I could hardly move my right arm, forget about lifting it over my head or picking anything up. My range of motion was severely impacted by the shoulder pain.
The worst part of it, other than the ridiculous amount of pain, was that I just realized how much I actually use my right arm. I hold my fork in my right hand, but that’s no problem, I could use my left for that. But taking a shower? I felt all out of sorts trying to wash with my left arm. Or buttoning a shirt. It was difficult enough getting my arm in to the sleeve, but trying to button it with no range of motion was nearly impossible. I just rocked a tee shirt. Just pouring a glass of orange juice was messed up. I had to put the glass on the counter, open the container with my left hand, pour the juice, put the oj on the counter, open the refrigerator with my left hand, pick up the oj and put it back in the fridge, then pick up the oj.. again with my left hand. It would have been way easier if I had both arms available to use. Wiping my… never mind you don’t need to know about that. LOL
I also realized that I sleep with my arm under my head, but I couldn’t do that this weekend. Friday, I couldn’t sleep at all, Saturday, I managed a little bit of sleep, but woke up when my shoulder told me that was enough. It was better Sunday, but after 4 hours of sleep, it was a wrap. It feels better when I ice it, and take aleve, but I think I need to go to the doctor to get this checked out. I could live with the pain, but I can’t live without the sleep. The weekend is supposed to be my lazy time. Stupid right shoulder messed that up for me.