Just a regular day at the gym

I woke up late
(because Nesto woke me up to put me back to sleep)
(bow chicka bow wow)
(sorry. Too much info?)
So I decided to do a short run and then hit the weights
And while I was ACTIVELY WORKING OUT ON THE MACHINES this man starts talking to me.
Why do you have a brace on?
What happened?
Did you get it from your MD?
They don’t have braces for your hip, do they? HAHAHAHA
Me: No, Sir. They just give you a new one.
He finally goes away.

THEN. As I was getting a paper towel to wipe down a machine that some asshat left soaking wet
He catches me at the dispenser:
Do you come here every day?
Me: Just during the week. I hit the beach on the weekends.
Do you swim or layout?
Are you married?
OH. You ARE?
Me: Yes, sir. 20+ years.
AWWWW.. He’s a lucky man…
I was hoping you were single…

And that’s how at not even 6AM, I got hit on by some 70+ year old man.


Over the weekend, I went to a Dodgers game. The Man & I met up with some friends that we haven’t seen since we left Camp Pendleton. Which was a LONG ASS TIME AGO.

Because men don’t plan things well, we were sitting in different sections (which turned out to be okay ’cause they were sitting in the blazing hot sun and I burn like a mother fucker and it was 1200 degrees Saturday in Elysian Park). So they had to go in through a different gate and then meet us so we could show them Dodgers Stadium and yannow: eat.

Meeting place: Tommy Lasorda’s. There’s a bar nearby, and that’s where I go because it’s goddamn hot and also, beer.

Bartender (I’m assuming)*trying to be flirtatious*: Are you sure you’re old enough to order a beer?

Me: Ha! I am well over the legal drinking age.

The very nice bartender pours my beer and because I almost never carry cash, I paid with my card and also handed him my ID because I try to make things easy when I feel like it.

Bartender: Looks at my ID. Then back at me. Then back at my ID. I’m on a horse (I can never resist). Then down at my boobs. THEN BACK AT MY FACE.

Me: *smirks* TOLDJA

Bartender: Whatever you’re doing, keep it up!


Look at me over here aging gracefully and shit.

Work Twerk

So. There’s a guy here at work.
He…Ummm…is not my favorite.
Mostly because I think he believes he should be my favorite.
And I have never given him any sort of indication that he’s my favorite co-worker.
Mostly because he isn’t.

He called me at work after he’d left for the day.

Him: Hey. Can you do me a favor?
Me: I don’t know.
Him: I’d really appreciate it if you did.
Me: Well. Tell me what the favor is, THEN I can tell you if I can do it.
Personally, I don’t think it’s mean to want to know what it is you want.
You’re the one asking for the favor, mother fucker.
I don’t owe you shit.

Turns out I *could* do the favor for him. He left his iPad at work and he needed me to lock it up for him.

But, seriously. DUDE. I’m not in the habit of just saying yes and I don’t even know what the fuck it is you want from me.
ESPECIALLY, work people who tap dance on my nerves just by existing in the same space as I do.

Did I ever tell y’all about the time I met Charlotte Rae?

I did! At work.
And then my boss made me take her to lunch at the Café.

I was pretty stoked because HI. I’m 42 years old!
What child of the 80’s didn’t watch Different Strokes/Facts of Life?
(They came on back to back, back in the day)
(when I was young I’m not a kid anymore, but sometimes, I sit and wish I was a kid again)
(dammit with the songs. I can’t turn it off)
I got to ask her questions, and be all low-key fangirly.
I’m NEVER fangirly, guys. I told Al Pacino I’d spank him.
BUT. I was fangirly.
She was really nice (read: TOLERANT)
She also paid for lunch.
And later, she brought me (and another co-worker) a really sweet mug as a thank you gift that I still eat ice cream out of today.

Also. Did you know that Charlotte Ray was the first African-American female lawyer in the United States?
She graduated from Howard University School of Law in 1872. (Let’s hear it for HBCUs, y’all!)
AND. She was also the first female admitted to the District of Columbia Bar, and the first woman admitted to practice before the Supreme Court of the District of Columbia.
AND! Her admission was used as a precedent by women in other states who sought admission to the bar.

Ray opened her own law office and ran advertisements in a newspaper run by Frederick Douglass.
Charlotte Ray was said to be eloquent, authoritative, and “one of the best lawyers on corporations in the country”.
HOWEVER, She only practiced for a few years because prejudice against African Americans and women made her business unsustainable.
Ray eventually moved to New York, where she became a teacher in Brooklyn.

In March 2006, The Northeastern University School of Law (Boston, MA) chapter of Phi Alpha Delta Law Fraternity International chose to honor Ray by naming their newly chartered chapter after her, in recognition of her place as the first female African-American attorney.

WHAT. You say these aren’t the same people? Is this one of those cases Jack Johnson vs. Jack Johnson?
Yes it is!
Sometimes y’all get facts on random connections like the same name. Because I DO WHAT I WANT.
Even though I’ll be honest and tell y’all that I feel like I’m getting a cold
which means that I took cold medicine and NOW I have medicine head and when I looked up this fact I was like

And then I was like, OH. Maybe I should notice these names are spelled differently.
And that I probably woulda been HIGH KEY FANGIRLING if I had met the woman who made it possible for the FLOTUS to be a lawyer.
And I probably wouldn’t have asked her about Tootie.


This wraps up this year’s Black People Doing Important Shit Even When White People May Not Want Them To History Month. Also known as February.
Sorry y’all didn’t get your I hate Disney Post. Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll make more movies with black people as animals soon.
And I didn’t get to other stuff I WANTED to send y’all. (Yes, Miss…I know I owe you one. I got you)

February happens EVERY YEAR.
Along with the keeping you on your toes e-mails.

And just remember! If you ever get tired of my bullshit with some facts of life thrown in, THE INTERNET IS NOT JUST FOR PORN, it’s for HISTORY. The black kind.

See you next time!

I’m raising her right

My daughter looks exactly like her daddy. Which is okay, I guess. Because

  1. I thought he was cute enough to date/marry
  2. HE looks exactly like his mama.

But my attitude. She’s got it. And also my sense of humor. And my tendency to use song lyrics in conversations. 

On Monday, she texted me to say that she was listening to Macklemore and could not escape. And because that sounded horrifying, I asked her where she was. And her response was to guess. With a clue:

on a boat


I really love my kids.

The airport is never NOT a pain in my ass

I love to travel, but I’m not going to lie… the airport is a huge pain.

Because of people. People coming, people going. People dropping off other people. People who are just standing around lost and are always standing DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF YOU, so that you can’t get to where you’re going. I just..PEOPLE.

So this weekend I went to go visit The Boy and his new girlfriend. Quick trip as he’s pretty close by air. It was fun! I even got to lunch with Grace! And Julia! And various other people connected to those two. I love that my friends and family are close-ish. Because I don’t see some of them not NEARLY enough.

Anyways. The trip home was sort of a mess. Our flight was (of course) delayed. But luckily not for HOURS, just 30 minutes or so. So just enough time for us to get comfortable with being late, but not so late that I’m actively raging against Southwest. Sidenote: I built in delay time when I booked with Southwest because I can never NOT be delayed when I fly Southwest. Or at least, not trips that I’ve taken in the last year or so. Our flight was also COMPLETELY FULL. And then because nobody wants to check a bag I had to check my carryon. Which meant that when I got to LAX, I was gonna have to go to baggage claim. Which, GAH. THIS IS WHY I HAVE A CARRYON, SO THAT I DON’T HAVE TO GO TO BAGGAGE CLAIM.

So I was already irritated because PEOPLE. And traveling. And just dealing with people traveling. I finally get my bag, collect The Man and start walking over to the elevator because we parked there. And then a couple of guys apparently took an issue with me walking in front of them and instead of just letting me mind my business said, “UH. EXCUSE YOU”, like we don’t all hate being at the airport with all of these people and everyone’s nerves aren’t already frayed because SHEESH.

And so instead of ignoring it like I may have normally, because who has time to acknowledge every dickish thing people say, I walk back over and say


I think people forget that just because I’m just randomly walking looking I guess, more or less unassuming I will not act a fool in public. But I most certainly will. And I bet you the next time they decide to snap on a random black girl minding her own damn business, they will think twice.

Because you really can’t be a sassy black girl better than a sassy black girl.