The money train stops here…

This post is a little different than the others, because I’m going to be talking about money, priorities and accountability (I’m breaking out in hives just saying the words but…it’s needed). Like many people in the world, the things keeping me up at night range from ” I need to get laid” to “How can I pay all my bills/loans without selling either my body and/or drugs”. I know too many of my favorite people who aren’t sleeping and are worrying about money and other things. And it seems that it’s getting harder and harder lately to live the quality of life you want or really deserve. I can already hear people (with no debt or school loans killing them) saying “well, you’re in this mess because of…or you need to cut back on this…”. Actually, NO BITCH; The only thing I’m currently prioritizing is whether to go to happy hour or just drink wine at home…

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Case of the ex

I’ve “fucked and ducked” a few people in my life. My actions are always pretty self-explanatory, so I really don’t need to have a conversation with every single person I’ve had sex with. I’ve dated people and not remembered their names or sometimes never asked their last names (I’m pretty self-involved and I like it that way).One particular incident sticks out in my mind though; my best friend and I were in my car when I saw a guy I hooked up with a few weeks prior, walking towards my car. This dude decided to come up to my car at a red light to ask me why I wasn’t returning his calls or some shit like that. Mind you, my windows are rolled up and dude is starting to get loud at the crosswalk. Well, me being the asshole that I am, I hit the gas…at the red light in order to avoid in further embarrassment from this man. I didn’t kill my bestie (Thank you baby Tupac in the sky) and she was not surprised that I would rather die in head-on collision than speak to this guy. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t avoid every person I’ve dated or fucked, but for some it’s a mandatory life sentence of no communications. When you see me walking down the street, please ignore me as I’m ignoring you. But what happens when you’ve been with someone who you actually considered a friend. Once you’ve been intimate with someone, is the friendship done the minute the relationship is over? Why is it so hard for some people to maintain a friendship with someone they’ve seen naked a thousand times?!?  Continue reading

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First date fuckeries

As a single woman of the 21st century, I would consider myself a professional dater and dating a blood sport. I’ve been on so many bizarre, horrible first dates at this point that my neck should be adorn with gold medals just for the simple fact that I’ve leaped over TOO many questionable situations.There was the first date with the musician, who felt it necessary to tell me that his grandfather was a Grand Wizard but assured me that he didn’t share the views as his piece-of-shit grandpa. I calmly asked if he was planning to lynch me after this date and he didn’t find it funny, but I just thought I’d ask. And then there was the police officer who told me that because I mostly dated black guys, his penis would never be enough for me. Apparently he knew something about my vagina that I didn’t. My ultimate favorite is when my date’s WIFE called me on my cell, while on said date, to ask me if I was fucking her husband, the man sitting across from me.

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The truth is…

“Take a leap of faith” or other bullshit lines are what I’ve been hearing from my friends (I love you guys to death!) but because they know me,  they know that they’re quite possibly wasting their collective breaths. When it comes to to every aspect of my life, I’m the HEAD BITCH in CHARGE, except when it comes to my love life. That is an entirely different story, one filled with extreme pickiness and NOs. Why is that? I mean I must complain to my friends at least once a week that I wanna get laid (desert, desert, drought).  And it’s not the opportunity to fuck that’s lacking and the men are respectful and all that good shit, but something has changed in me…and it honestly scares me.

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My blackness

 

My blackness is not up for discussion. It is not gonna be dissected by you or your friends. Do not tell me the way that act or present myself is in any way related to the color of my skin. You will not win me over by reciting every lyric to every Biggie or Tupac song. Do not ask me about the state of my hair or do not attempt to touch me or my hair when I clearly don’t know you. Do not presume to know my identity or who I relate to; I am a confident woman of colour, so I’m already a walking oxymoron for some. Do not tell me that racism does not exist or that black people are too sensitive nowadays. Until you know how it feels to be judged simply by the color of your skin before you’ve even uttered one word, don’t talk to me about understanding what I’m going through. And if you’re gonna tell me that you have black friends or you’ve date black girls before, then we don’t even need to speak, because I am not the black girl for you. Do not assume that just because I am educated and well-spoken that I am not black enough. When you ask me where I’m from and I tell you Montreal, do not give me that fucking confused look. I was born and raised here by immigrants who chose to live and raise kids here. Do not tell me that I’m different from the other black people who’ve meant, because guess what jackass, we are all different, just like white people are all different. But most importantly, know that there is nothing that you can do to make love my blackness any less. I love mine and maybe you should love yours…

 

 

 

*Illustration by Brad Amorosino

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It was all a dream…

I’M NOT where I thought I would be at this point in  my life. Real talk!!! I thought I’d be a doctor by now, saving lives in a third world country somewhere and possibly running for president of said small nation. But alas, like so many other things in my life,  my plans for world domination through health care did not materialize. In fact, all that planning til university, pretty much confirmed what I already knew: I can’t stand the sight of blood, hate the smell of hospital and I hate strangers. A conversation with a girlfriend of mine  got me thinking about my life’s plan and wondering if anyone’s life plan ever works out perfectly, with everything falling into places and others playing their designated roles. Is it realistic that we are eternally conditioned to plan this picture perfect future, considering how volatile life can  really be. Is it stupid of us to really expect our life to be exactly what we wanted it to be 5, 10, or 15 years ago?

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