I Treat Them Like They Want To Be Treated

But before we get to that, I was able to host my show... I guess los santos got me a reprieve. The computer is still a piece of crap but that's a post for another day.

Meanwhile, a big thank you to Bossmack TopSoil for coming in at the last minute and helping me out with the show, and to my regulars... who loves you, baby?!?! Now, listen to the podcast of Monday Musings here. Because the rest of you know you feel guilty that you missed it. You know who you are...

And now back to the post...

IM conversation circa summer 2007 or 2008... who even remembers anymore...:

VATO LOCO: U GOT TO MAKE IT UP 2ME
ME: call one of your reserve hos
VATO LOCO: LOL
VATO LOCO: NO RESERVE HOS
ME: get some; I'm a busy girl
VATO LOCO: SMART ASS
ME: always
VATO LOCO: I LIKE IT
ME: your species always do
VATO LOCO: LOL I'M SARCASTIC ALSO
ME: who's being sarcastic? I only speak truth
VATO LOCO: CALL ME
ME: no. you're wasting my daytime minutes

And THAT, ladies, is how you get a man to fall in love with you...

*smooches...thinking of getting 'SMART ASS' tattooed on my face*
----------
might as well, seeing as dudes stay calling me that...

Total Mental Breakdown In 2.5 Seconds... (UPDATE)

Y'all know I never delete blog posts... can't bring myself to delete my own words like that, but here's an after-french-fry update on today's tantrum and tirade:

1. The voice recorder MAGICALLY came back to life after I had a conversation with los santos.. turns out one of you bitchez out there must've put some roots/brujeria on me. That's cool, tho, do your thing. Just know whatever evil you send my way will come back at you threefold, Okay? I don't fuck around and Chango has my back so to whomever is not wishing me well: FUCK. YOU.

2. Monday Musings may very well air tonight thanks to West Coast blogger Bossmack TopSoil. If you're not familiar with his blog, get to it... he's one of the realest cats out there, and I lurk at his spot on the regular. I'll keep you updated on the status of the show, because I still have my wack-ass Dell to maneuver around.

I'm writing this from work because my home PC is just... I don't even know.

On top of all that, I spilled water in my bag... completely immersing, among other things, my digital voice recorder. The very digital recorder that was housing 2+ hours of interviews I conducted for an important project I'm working on. Interviews that I haven't had a chance to transcribe.

And now everything is gone.

This is what I get for depending on machines... if I'd kept my old fashion recorder with the little mini-tapes, everything would still be fine. But NOOOOO, I just had to upgrade to this digital shittiness that can't even hold up to a little bit of filtered water.

So, I doubt there will be a Monday Musings tonight because my computer is a piece of shit Dell desktop that needs to be kicked across the fucking room a couple of times, and anyways I'm not even in the mood to talk to anyone. If I made plans with anyone this week forget it; don't even call to confirm or ask how I'm doing 'cause I'm not answering the phone. And all your emails will go unanswered.

(don't worry, Irene... I'll still be there for Olivia's birthday)

I think there are blog entries scheduled to post this week so feel free to enjoy those in my absence.

*smooches...working really hard to not cry at my desk*
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although, who am I kidding. I am crying. A lot.

I Officially Start My Fitness Training Again This Weekend...

...because I'LL BE DAMNED TO HELL FOR ALL ETERNITY if 63-year-old Helen Mirren looks like this in a bikini:



and I look like this:



Jesus take the wheel.

*smooches...throwing out the last of my Reese's Pieces in the trash*
----------
I will not look grosser than a great-grandmother... I will not look grosser than a great-grandmother... I will NOT look grosser than a great-grandmother!!!

If My Babies Kill Someone, Feel Free To Blame Me And Their Father

I'm going to need you parents out there who are fucking up to do better. For real.

From the NY Post online:

A 16-year-old Queens youth confessed early this morning to the grisly slaying of radio newsman George Weber, who was stabbed as many as 50 times in his Brooklyn apartment, The Post has learned.

Cops took the teen, identified by police as John Katehis of Forest Hills, into custody in upstate Middletown and brought him to the 76th Precinct station house in Brooklyn.

Police said Katehis, who was busted at a bus station at 11 p.m., confessed to the murder at around 4 a.m. today.

A source told The Post that Weber, 47, an ABC News radio broadcaster, and the teen met on Craigslist and had been e-mailing one another.

Read the rest of the story here.

If that wasn't a cry for attention then I don't know what is...

And you should have seen his MySpace page (which has been taken down since I last saw it)! It was chock full if anarchy signs and the mark of the beast and all that crazy shit.

You telling me his parents didn't see signs that he needed a swift kick in the ass more attention? Military school A hug? To be locked in the basement Someone to say, "I Love You!" on a regular basis?

Jesus Christ on the cross!!

You need a license to grab some damn fish out the ocean but any old stupid-ass heifer can be a parent... you tell me what's wrong with that?!?!

*smooches...watching my babies closely*
----------
I'll be damned if I'm busting my ass just to have one of my kids pull a Menendez or some shit!

Japan Ain't Playin' With Y'all

Baseball may be America's pastime, and the Dominican Republic may breed peloteros like they breed platanos, but Japan? They took this game and made it theirs.



For the second time in a row, the Japanese national team won it all in the World Baseball Classic, and I can't even be mad at them. They were a strong team from their very first game. They were hungry for it. And they deserved to win.

Here's a tip for the future for Team DR (cabrones malvados pedasos de mierda!): focus LESS on MLB players with inflated egos and bank accounts, and get MORE players from the Dominican Leagues. I know half of the Licey team could have easily whooped those Netherlands cats better than Big Papi Poopie and them.

But, eh, what can you do. After the Giants and the Mets let me down last year, I've learned to not get too worked up over sports. So to bring some levity to this post, check out Letterman's Top Ten Reasons To Watch The WBC:



And Team USA... what can I tell you? You ain't so hot without your foreign born players, are you, huh? You betta recognize...

*smooches...looking forward to more baseball starting 4/6*
----------
I wish wish wish I could get tickets to CitiField for opening day but, alas, I'm just a broke-ass writer with no connections. BOOOO!

Reason #24, 875 Why I'm Too Through

First, however, let me remind you that I had a show last night, and Brother Omi and I had a great discussion on Dominican author Junot Diaz's Pulitzer Prize winning novel, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. And YES, I need to keep reminding you that:

1- This book won the Pulitzer Prize
2- Diaz is an awesome Dominican author
3- You (except for Smarty Jones & The F$%k It List) missed my show.

It's cool, though... when my media empire blows up, I know who will be guaranteed a corner office and who will only be offered freelance work here and there when the mood strikes.

Here's the podcast for you lazy limabeans and ne'er-do-wells: Monday Musings- A Jaded Literary Moment

So back to the point I wanted to make today...

I had to send this email to one of the girls in my office a few weeks ago:

When writing a sentence with a quote, the punctuation marks at the end of the quote belong INSIDE the closing quote marks.

Example:

WRONG: “We expect this to be a great development for NYC”, said the mayor.

RIGHT: “We expect this to be a great development for NYC,” said the mayor.

WRONG: The mayor said, “We expect this to be a great development for NYC”.

RIGHT: The mayor said, “We expect this to be a great development for NYC.”

Please be sure you make a note of this and review what you write thoroughly before handing it over to me; I keep finding these kinds of errors in your articles.

Thanks,

R

*smooches...wishing for good help if in fact I'm destined to stay at this job*
------------
it really shouldn't be my job to teach English 101 to a grown ass woman with a college degree who claims she wrote for her school paper. am I wrong??

What I Love

Ever notice how a group of intelligent individuals with years of book learnin’ on a myriad of subjects will almost always turn the conversation to love- the quest for it, the lack of it, the desire of it and the indifference towards it?

It’s tricky for me because I’m not as familiar with the sentiment as I would like to be, at least not with the opposite sex, and sometimes I even wonder if that’s the case with the other people in my life, too.

One thing I never doubt, however, is my love for the written word.

But before I get into that, you know my show comes on tonight. Brother Omi is my co-host as we have an in-depth discussion about the Pulitzer Prize winning book, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Dominican author Junot Diaz.



If you haven't read this book yet then you are putting our friendship in serious jeopardy. Seriously.

I'll give you a pass, though, if you tune in to my show, A Jaded Literary Moment, tonight at 10PM, just like the flyer says...

And now the post:

Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired. -Robert Frost

So many want that, “fit in the nook of his body in bed at night” kind of love that lulls them to sleep. That, “he loves me no matter what I look like in the morning” love. That, “I burnt the roast but he kissed me and we ordered take-out instead” love. That, “he can’t keep his eyes hands legs lips off of me” love.

Love is the triumph of imagination over intelligence. -Henry Louis Mencken

So many will let love smack them in the face, give them an STD, leave them stranded with a child, make them forget their own worth, allow them to become a shell of who they used to be, force them to turn their backs on loved ones and nothing you tell them will ignite the logic that wills them to leave and be free.

Love is friendship set on fire. – unknown

Some get lost in the lustful quest of love, the whirlwind, fairytale, fancy diamond, “He proposed at the World Series,” fast and happy fiery fleeting love, that doesn’t have time to marinate, that isn’t tried on in the dressing room, that burns bright for a millisecond of a lifetime before fizzling out into a cloud of smoke over a pile of ashes.

The bible will have us believe that:

Love is patient and kind, and it does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.

But I say if that’s the truth, then love is not human because humans are all those things.

And I for one want nothing to do with things not of this world, this alien called love, unless this love manifests itself to me in a book filled with words that teach me to find my own nook in the bed at night, will never put their hands on me and will always take the time to make me theirs.

I just want to crack open that new binding and lose myself in words that I know but have never seen in this particular order before. I want to be stolen away in the middle of the night to Terabithia, catch that marlin for the Old Man, become best friends with one of the Garcia Girls, stop Louis from burying Gage in the old pet cemetery.

I just want to know what these thin pages are trying to tell me… about the Salem witch trials, about writing the perfect query letter, about baking the perfect carrot cake, about the best fit of clothing that will help me camouflage these extra 20 pounds… and let it fill my brain until I’m sated.

I just want to spend time with my words, get to know them better, like, what makes this word go so well with that word, but sound more terribler with the other one. I want to be devoted to this special, quiet, comfy, sofa, me & words time, away from the ashes of those fiery loves that have extinguished around me.

Just free to love and be loved by words.

*smooches...wondering if any of this made sense to you*
-----------
sometimes my brain goes off on these tangents and I just have to let it do what it do... to hell with the feedback!

I Always Thank The Church In My Acceptance Speeches

DUDE: just want you to know that you're OFFICIALLY owner of the "Best First Text Message" award
ME: *walks up on stage in tears*
ME: OMG, I don't even know what to say
ME: I want to thank the Catholic Church first and foremost for all the years of repression that led to my total loss of morals and decorum
ME: my parents for great genes
ME: Victoria's Secret for all her support
ME: and the wonderful people at Verizon who never shut my phone off no matter how many payments I am behind on my bill
ME: Thank you all so much. I love you!
ME: *exits stage left*

*smooches...having wayyyy too much fun on this phone*
----------
and then I wonder why my bill is so freakin high all the time... look at how many texts I sent to a non-Verizon number!!!

Caffeine Gives Me "Crazy" Eyes

I haven't been sleeping... I know it's because I'm in the middle of a down cycle in my faux manic depression. The last one was a while ago so the cycles aren't going as fast as they did last year, but I hope that doesn't mean it will take me a while to get out of my funk.

And I know what it is... I know what I have to do and I'm working on it... no worries (yet).

In the meantime, I thought coffee would help. But, um, NO it didn't, because for some reason I stay not trying to remember that caffeine makes me feel like my heart is going to burst out of my chest, makes my eyes get all shifty and twitchy, and gives me a mild case of the shakes.

People, I was in bad shape over here. I started mumbling to myself in my office, talking 'bout: "Someone, please- how long before the effects of a tall, skim, caramel macchiato from Starbucks wears off? My eyes won't close and my skin feels weird... like it's trying to dislodge from my body! It's like that time in college when I had that really bad "trip" ALL OVER AGAIN!!!!!"

It was a hot mess.

Thank god I crashed on the subway ride home, otherwise this post would probably look like this:

uhgn h 8phg3 biyu8g nhpn NUBVWPEUBEUWBUBO!!!!!!!!!NUN8TBB 8H8W N98 BH8HNBUN
NVTBVBG I 7G HNBU HBP98GH GH G HG 08[GH[AUY3YN 575YN J0 lololololol

See what I mean?

*smooches...hoping for time to really crash this weekend*
----------
I only have ONE thing planned and I'm only doing that ONE thing... everybody/thing else, please, KISS OFF. and I mean that in the nicest way possible.

I Can Make It Through All This

I have an arsenal in my memory bank filled with everything I need to get through this... this... whatever. All I have to do is utilize it.

All I have to do is cancel my Netflix subscription, get off Twitter, stop checking my email like a thirsty heifer and do what needs to get done.

There's the resume and cover letter that could use some polishing, the stories, novellas, and MFA Thesis that are crying for completion. The bills that come and come and come and beg to be paid. The apartment that could use a good scrubbing from ceiling to floor and the craft projects that seemed like a good idea at the time that never moved past initial stages.

Lets not forget the magazine I was supposed to launch; the party-planning company that would have really helped my bank account right about now; the online store I keep threatening my readers with and the GODDAMN THESIS CRYING FOR COMPLETION.

I have boxes of photographs that have never been cataloged, CDs unheard and Books unread, pillows and curtains unsewn, scarves and blankets unknit.

I can complete it all, I know I can, because I have that arsenal in my memory bank filled with everything I need to get through this. All I have to do is utilize it.

All I have to do is get more sleep, lose some weight, stop eating meat, find a good man, move into a bigger place, get my PhD.

I can complete it all.

Of course, it'd be easier with 3 more of me, but cloning humans is still illegal in the U.S. Right?

*smooches...knowing that accomplishing just one of these would be awesome*
----------
choosing which one... ahh, there's the rub!

Jaded Book Giveaway No. 4

Greetings, bibliophiles... you ready for another one? Yeah? Okay, then lets do this.

But first... WOO DOGGIE I really enjoyed last night's show. Really Truly!

I want to thank Smarty Jones for being a wonderful co-host and dishing up the counter-arguments. And a special thanks to all the listeners who called in or offered up opinions in the chat rooms... I loved every minute of it!! I think we all made great points for both sides and in the end decided that what we need to do as a collective is DEMAND BETTER from our filmmakers, and make our own opportunities in film & television.

Can the church say, Amen?

You can download the podcast here.

And now, on to the giveaway...

Here are the rules once again, for the cheap seats:

I have a lot of books; I'm being nice and giving some of them away. Below is a passage from a literary work and if you can be the first to name the book and it's author, I will send you TWO FREE BOOKS from my lovely collection.

Ready, set...

...

...

GO!

"...[E]ach of us is born with a box of matches inside us but we can't strike them all by ourselves; just as in the experiment, we need oxygen and a candle to help. In this case, the oxygen, for example, would come from the breath of the person you love; the candle could be any kind of food, music, caress, word, or sound that engenders the explosion that lights one of the matches."

Do you know it??? Do you???

*smooches...hoping that these giveaways make you want to read*
----------
and you can call me your pusher-man... that's right... I got the books you want. the books you neeeed. psst, hey, shorty... come over here for a minute. oye mami, ven aqui... you wanna see my books???

All Hail The Queen Of Connect Four!

All who dare challenge me will be squashed like the insignificant little bugs that they are.

See Marlon in this picture here?



Can you just feel his frustration at my total and complete domination over him? Add that to the fact that he's a Yankee fan and OOOOOOH my victory was even sweeter!

You have been warned.

Also...

LISTEN TO MY SHOW TONIGHT ON BLOG TALK RADIO.

Topic: Minorities in Film & TV



We're streaming live for an hour and a half JUST so we can get a good discussion going.

Tomorrow I'll go back to my regularly scheduled blogging. Promise.

*smooches...hoping to see all of you in the chat room tonight*
----------
daring anyone to try and usurp my Connect Four authority!

A Word About My Show And A List Celebrating Apathy

Say what you want about Twitter (it's stupid; it's a waste of time; people who tweet are so self-centered) but I get some of my best ideas from conversations I have with my Twitter folks!

Example No. 1-

Blogger Smarty Jones and I almost came to blows discussing Tyler Perry (I say he's wack; she called me a heifer spic... okay, no she didn't, but wouldn't that have been HILARIOUS?) and from that I got a great idea for my next Monday Musings segment:

Minorities In Film And TV: Shuckin' & Jivin' Or Paving The Way?

Now. People. A lot of you usually miss my show for whatever reason and normally I don't care because I have fun doing this and I have a group of loyal, core listeners that make it worthwhile, but this topic is trez importante!



The fate of minorities in entertainment may very well rest on whether or not you tune in, hence why I'm advertising the segment TODAY rather than waiting for Monday! Don't let our people down...

Example No. 2-

I started following comedian Michael Ian Black on Twitter (who, by the way, wrote these hysterical tweets today:

• I am never, never, NEVER going to buy a slave on ebay again.
• The slave I purchased on ebay was older, shorter, and in much worse physical condition than advertised. And get this: "I don't cook." WTF???
• Slave update: I packed him back up and returned him to the sender (C.O.D.) FYI, I enclosed a cheese sandwich and a soda. Above & beyond?
• It was just pointed out to me that slavery is not a laughing matter. I'm not laughing. Not with a filthy house and a defective ebay slave.

and I damn near fell out of my chair in a fit of giggles.)

But that same slave-buying comedian started a Fuck It List, and encouraged others to make one, too.

What is a Fuck It List, you ask?

Well, besides being a cool Brooklyn blogger and a member of the Lovely Blogging Ladies of NYC, a Fuck It List is a list of items you really don't care if you ever do before you die... basically the opposite of a Bucket List (read the full article here).

And you KNOW I had to participate... so without further ado, here are 10 of the trillion items on my list, including the ones I tweeted:

The Jaded NYer's (Partial) Fuck It List

1. Sky Diving
2. Eat or drink any of the following:

• raw fish or any meat 'tartar'
• a shot of wheat grass juice
• fried bugs
• feces
• urine (again)
  

3. Piercing my tongue, lip, cheek, nipples or clitoris; tattooing my face; shaving my head.
4. See Michael Jackson live. No thank you, I'd rather stay home and stare at the walls.
5. Find Jimmy Hoffa's remains.
6. Have a reconciliation/heart-to-heart with my biological father.
7. Dance naked under the pale moonlight.
8. Seeing the Grand Canyon, Yellowstone National Park, Mt. Rushmore & all that other sh*t.
9. Falling in love.
10. Watching The Wire.

Now, Michael is also pushing a "Suck It List"- things you HAVE to do but don't WANT to, but lord Jesus, I ain't got time for all that right now... I'm trying to actually get some of those Suck It things done!

*smooches...wondering what you have on your lists*
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but most importantly, I need you to listen to my show on Monday or you're not invited to my Birthday Extravaganza in May. There, I said it... I didn't want to have to take it there but you've forced my hand. hmph!

BOY-EFFIN-COTT!!!!!!

I recently attended an event in The Heights for Independence Day, and during the festivities they had this comedian from La Mega 97.9 FM on stage.

He goes by the name Mariconsuelo and is part of El Vacilon morning show.



He plays this uber-effeminate, lisping, horn-dog gay Latino that is sooooo motherfucking offensive I almost ran on stage to check his non-funny Colombian ass!

And let me tell you- if *I* was offended then you KNOW it was bad. He just kept feeding into the most disgusting and hateful gay stereotypes that just make Latinos so intolerable of homosexuality. And his jokes, even the non-gay-central ones were just BAD. UGH!

I officially loathe him and call an immediate Jaded Boycott of El Vacilon and La Mega in general.

That is all.

*smooches...thinking of becoming the Al Farton of Latinos in NYC*
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first step to becoming al- get me a kick ass perm and a bucket o wings... being a pain in the ass is a lot of work!

Is It Possible To Be Dead Inside For Real?

I really can't bring myself to FEEL sometimes. And that's kinda scary!

My girls complain about dudes who are too aloof and never call back and are just UGH, and I listen and nod and offer advice and give them my shoulder... and then I meet someone who's ready to be at my beck and call and wants to be with me and I'm just like, eh, I'm going home to watch LOST. Thanks for dinner. Talk to you later, mmkay?

I mean, what the hell, right?

I wonder if I even have the capacity to love a man? I know I love my friends and my family and my kids. And I love this blog and the wonderful people I've met because of it. Oh, and I really, really, really love LOST like you wouldn't believe. I am going to cry like a baby when that show ends... I just know it!

But a man? I just don't foresee it. I just don't take them seriously and frankly, I don't see how one will enhance or complement my existence on this earth. Like, for real. Friends, YES. I cannot live without my friends. Boyfriend/Husband? BOOOO!

So I'm telling you this because I asked on Twitter and via email to my subscribers if they thought it would be a good idea for me to allow my readership to set me up on blind dates that I would then document on the blog. A bunch of people automatically said yes, seeing it as I did- an opportunity for great blog fodder.

The only voice of dissent was Mari, god love her, and for some reason her NO weighed more than all the YESes I got back from people.

Her reasoning? Well, it boiled down to it would be mean and unfair to the guys because I wouldn't be taking it seriously, just using them to make fun of them on the blog. And that's something I never considered- the dudes' feelings. It was all about me and how funny it would be to draw the awesome stick-figure cartoons of all these losers, never stopping to think that maybe they were actually looking to make a connection with someone.

Normally I'd say FEELINGS-SCHMEELINGS and do it anyway, but I don't want to be that kind of person, not even to men.

With the exception of my marriage, I've never really been there for any man I've dated. Okay, I lied... ESPECIALLY in my marriage I haven't been there. I find it to be the hardest thing in the world to get close to a man, to be NICE, even, or to care what the dickens he's talking about. Sometimes I can see a guy trying to get close to me, attempting to get a certain reaction out of me- a smile, a thank you, a hug, a kiss- and all I can manage is a "whatever" as I walk away or change the channel or shove him out of my face.

Right about now Lani is screaming out loud, "Where the hell does she FIND these guys, and how does she get them to fall for her?!?!"

*shrugs... then notices amazing rack and flashes an evil grin*

Wish I knew, hon, wish I knew...

So I won't be going through with the blind dates for the blogs.

No blind dates for the blogs, no blind dates on Monday Musings, NO BLIND DATES AT ALL.

And until I can get my heart looked at by a cardiologist (I swear something is disconnected somewhere... it has to be), no more dates. Period.

*smooches...worried that my non-concern for this should be a concern*
----------
you know, I really, truly feel sorry for any one who:

1- has to analyze me
2- has to live with me
3- ends up in love with me

poor suckers...

When Terror Comes A-Knocking...

I didn't host my show last night after all... more technical difficulties of the human kind. But I thought in light of the topic I was going to discuss, this little tale was an appropriate representation of my feelings towards organized religions and their followers...

A random Saturday morning.

C calls to say he is downstairs waiting to take the babies to Six Flags. But then we hear the doorbell ring and assume it is him needing to use the facilities.

K is on her way to let her dad in when I get another call from him...

C: Be careful; there are Witnesses at your door.
ME: (yelling as if in a horror movie) K!! COME BACK, CAME BACK!! IT'S THE WITNESSES!!

K runs back up, kinda shook, and asks, "Who?"

ME: Jehovah's Witnesses!! They were at the door!!

*smooches...more afraid of The Witnesses than I am of men in fur!!*
----------
I mean, why were they ringing my bell anyway?? Don't they know we're Muslim/Agnostic up in here? Sheesh!

Dream A Little Dream Of... And Other Musings

This weekend's plans to lay low and get some writing done failed miserably. And taxes? What stinkin' taxes? Those bitches remain unfiled. And that chicken I was going to roast on Saturday? Yeah... about that... sit back 'cause it's gonna be a loooong story...

UPDATE: Tonight's Monday Musings segment is on the relevance of organized religion in this modern society.



In a time when jobs are scarce and wars still rock the headlines, are we fooling ourselves by turning to the church for answers? Or is it foolish not to?

Tune in tonight and voice your opinions; this heathen wants to hear from you!!

Same time 10PM
Same place www.blogtalkradio.com/thejadednyer
NO EXCUSES!

Brush With Death?
Saturday was supposed to be all about checking some of my writing projects off of my to-do list. I had planned on visiting a friend to watch the DR vs. The Netherlands baseball game armed with Tostitos, salsa and my laptop. I was going to munch, write and curse at Big Papi on the TV.

HOWEVER, I woke up feeling dizzy, short of breath and weak. I made light of it on Twitter but it was actually scary enough that I had to sit and talk to myself in order to remain calm. It was like a combination of anxiety attack and vertigo mixed with dehydration.

So I drank lots of water, forced myself to eat something and just sat on the couch for most of the morning until the game came on. It seemed to work but I didn't want to risk leaving my apartment and getting sick in the street, settling in to watch the game online instead. And let me tell you about the goddamn game...

The Netherlands Cheated. HMPH!
It was supposed to be a throwaway game, an easy win: The Dominican power-houses against the wee lads of The Netherlands. I mean, who knew The Netherlands played baseball, right?

Then the players took the field and I was like WHAT THE FUCK??? These dudes are black as night... THEY ARE NOT DUTCH!

Come to find 90% of the team is loaded with players from Curacao and Aruba n shit... these motherfuckers were Caribbean, for chrissake, NOT Dutch! They're bred on platanos and seafood and shit just like the Cubanos, Puerto Ricans and my DR brethren, so it was not an easy game to win at all.

And I guess you can tell from my sour grapes that they beat us, 3-2...

I Was Only Supposed To Go To First Saturdays...
So how did I end up at O'Neil's, again, until after 4 in the morning with ShellyShell and her cousin?

And before that we were at the Soda Bar in the Slope, and I'd forgotten how good the weekend DJ is at that place! Or maybe I'd blocked it out because I used to go there with The Haitian and ugh... who wants to remember that shit?

(and speaking of his wackness... he DJs at this place right across from Soda called Plan B. Remind me never to step foot in there)

Anyways, we danced so much at Soda that 1- I sweat my hair out; Farrita Fawcettnandez is no more (Twitter folks know what I mean) and instead I'm rocking a more tamed & relaxed wavy 'do. And 2- my legs were in so much pain on Sunday that I could not find a comfortable position to sit, lay or stand in. WTF? I seriously considered amputating my own leg...

I'm Old Y'all
So I'm limping around my apartment all day Sunday, wanting to do some kind of chores n shit but in enough pain that I keep having to sit every few minutes. And the thought of having to thoroughly season an entire roasting chicken with veggies, plus finally try my hand at homemade gravy, seemed like the chore to end all chores. Especially because I needed to buy a few things from the grocery store. Which is like 5 blocks away. TOO FAR away for my bum leg. And that's what happened to the chicken; it's still in the fridge.

I had pasta instead. Which gave me a serious case of the itis. Which gave me a wicked dream...

Dream A Little Dream...
While watching DR redeem itself in the game versus Panama (we won 9-0, btw), I fell asleep on the couch but not really 'cause I could still hear the game. But then I couldn't, and instead I was outside with N and she was playing in this deep ass mud puddle. She even submerged herself in it. Then she started choking 'cause she had all this mud caked up in her nose and mouth.

I put my finger in the mouth to try and force her to vomit or cough so she could breathe but she was turning all kinds of colors and her eyes were bulging and tears were coming out of her eyes and she was making the most horrible sound ever and I was freaking the fuck out. I pulled out my phone to call 911 but was overcome with this feeling that they weren't going to make it in time. And then I couldn't breathe and it was Saturday morning all over again. *I* was fucking choking!

I totally had to force myself awake and I took the deepest breath known to man, and you know what? You know that horrible noise N was making in my dream? Fucking Dominican fans blowing a fucking air horn in the stands during the game. Reason #3,276 why you shouldn't fall asleep with the TV on.

Needless to say, I let my baby sleep with me when C brought them home. Just in case... and ended up having another bad dream that I don't even want to get into right now...

*smooches...not happy with these horrid vivid dreams I've been having*
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what the hell is going on in my subconscious mind? is this old age and dementia manifesting itself in my 30s? GODDAMN... can a girl get a break?!?!

It Ended Before It Even Began

ME: forget it
ME: I'm breaking up with you... this isn't working out
DUDE: lol
ME: It's not me, it's you
DUDE: i dont think its me
DUDE: which means it has to be you
ME: that right there is why it's you
ME: *hooks cake up to an IV*
DUDE: and that right THERE is why it HAS to be you!
DUDE: btw, that makes it sound like your cake is sick
ME: and you're still talking to me because...?
ME: *gets restraining order*

*smooches...sad that one of my readers had to get the boot*
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but you know sometimes you just have to realize when a relationship just isn't in your best interest.

Don't Act Like This Is New Information

Some people just need to be told shit again and again and again...

I have mood swings. Lots of them. They come without warning whenever they feel like it and are vicious as all hell. And there's no guarantee that they'll only occur during PMS Week; my mood swings LAUGH in the face of my menstrual cycle. They. Come. Whenever.

I'm a mom. I have full custody of my daughters. Their dad gets them every other weekend and half of their vacation time. I do believe I've told you this, right? So you know I'm busy at night being, you know, THERE FOR MY KIDS, right? Right. So your passive aggressive statements about when you'll see me again? FAIL!

Washing dishes means washing ALL the dishes. Not just the ones in the sink, but the ones you left on the table or on the stove or on the counter top. It also includes cleaning the gook out of the drainer, wiping down the counters, stove, cabinet doors, wall behind the stove and squeezing the sponge out and keeping it out of the sink.

Clean the bathroom means, guess what? CLEAN THE BATHROOM. It does not mean wipe down the tub, sink and the inside of the toilet and ignore the mirror, floors, tiles, the rest of the toilet and all the walls. And it really wouldn't kill you to empty the waste paper basket, either.

Don't ask me shit about how the office works. I'm not the the office manager or secretary or executive assistant and I haven't been one since like 2003. And PS- if you can't figure out for yourself how to send a fax, use the mail machine or recycle file folders because the box is empty, then you need to get the hell on and take a class on COMMON FUCKING SENSE.

I respect my mom and family a lot. It's how I was raised to treat my elders. So if I say I'm going to refrain from doing or saying something that will upset my mother or family in any way, and you chastise me for it or ask me, "How old are you again?" we might come to blows. Just because you're okay with cussin and drinkin and being all lawless if front of your mom doesn't mean it's acceptable behavior in my house.

I DON'T CARE ABOUT CHRIS BROWN AND/OR RIHANNA. I'm sooo tired of hearing about these two fools. I don't care if they're back together. I don't care if Chris went jet-skiing last weekend and I ESPECIALLY don't care about wack ass Usher and his hateration. So please, if that's the only small talk you can come up with today just shut up instead.

I'm addicted to rice. You already know this, okay? It's a serious, bona fide stamped and approved addiction that will take years of therapy, hypnosis and acupuncture to conquer, so I'll thank you kindly to shut the fuck up when I happen to mention that I ate 80% of the big ass pot of yellow rice my mom made this weekend... and that I blamed it on the girls...

I protect my Twitter account for a reason. You don't need to know that reason. You just need to accept it and move on. And you need to not RE-Tweet what I post w/out permission and you need to not send me a 2nd and 3rd "follow" request after I decline you. If you're someone I know using a pseudonym, or a blog fan, please email me and let me know, otherwise... DECLINED.

I watch a lot of movies & TV online. I enjoy it; TV and movies have always been a favorite pass time. It's how I relax and unwind. You've got a lot of nerve complaining about it... do you pay my Cablevision bill? Or for my Netflix account? NO? Then you know what? Yup, you guessed it... SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP. Besides, Heroes is on and I'm not even listening to anything you have to say right now...

*smooches...airing out grievances even though Festivus is a long way off*
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sometimes you have to let it out before you unearth that shotgun from the yard and take to that proverbial clock tower in Downtown Brooklyn.

Inadequacy And Regret

Inadequacy doesn't even sound like a real word, right? Say it ten times slowly and you'll see what I mean.

But it's real, alright, real, live and in color, seated at the right hand of my life, just toddling about with it's buddy regret as if it belonged here.

It's there at work, when I'm hanging with friends, when I'm in The Heights getting my hair done- it just keeps following me around like a sick puppy.

It was especially present on Career Day this past Saturday.

I hate to ruin my rep as a hard ass and admit this, but, I felt like a total loser and failure standing in front of those kids. All my life I've always told myself, "NO REGRETS" and thought I was living by that motto happily until I stood in that classroom next to someone who was 5 years my junior and living my dream (well, sorta). It was like I was on Nickelodeon, and someone dropped a big old bucket of green regret on my head, plus I'd forgotten to wear pants or study for the test and I didn't bring any number 2 pencils and we were on the roof and I was about to fall off the ledge. Plus I was pregnant. All of my fears and nightmares rolled into one.

Now, I'm a pretty good bullshit artist, so I don't think it showed during the presentation, but on the inside I was all sorts of green... she had the cool magazine job that allowed her face time with celebs and comp tickets to movie and music festivals all over the world. Plus she had a fancy title. I felt so relieved when another Class of '93 alum showed up and I was able to run off and ditch her to catch up with him instead of making small talk with her; my feelings of inadequacy were just oozing out of my pores!

And it was soooo stupid of me because you know what? I don't give a rats ass about celebrity news, and if I had to work at one of those nosy, gossip weeklies I really wouldn't be happy. I know my real dream is to win that Pulitzer for literature, get my PhD and be the head honcho at my own media empire, specializing in cultural entertainment. Not that, "What is Britney wearing" stuff but rather a "You must see this new exhibit at MoMA" or "This new indie film/artist blew me away" stuff.

But I still let it get to me. And while I'm owning the fact that it was all in my head (thanks, Jack) I'm just, I don't know, PISSED that I let these emotions runneth over. Like, HELLO, McFLY?!?! I'm the SHIT, right?? What's with the fucking pity party?

So I called Jack and we talked it out and I thought I was better. THEN I had to pass up an opportunity to go to Spain for a week in June because Ks graduation falls right smack in the middle of the trip. THEN I had to skip out on a recent event because I had to go home and cook. And I don't want to be one of those people that blames their kids or anything because, hey, nobody told me to let that fool hit it raw, right? But those thoughts pop up on their own... the what ifs.

What if I'd taken my studies seriously. What if I'd broken up with my ex as planned and had an abortion. What if I'd studied abroad in Italy. Or moved to Santo Domingo to live. So many evil thoughts that I want no part of, and one stupid little Career Day brings it all up. That's what I get for not taking it, or my life for that matter, seriously.

WOO LAWD I need me some Ani right about now...



OKAY.

Enough of this pity party sappy bullshit.

I can't go wasting these opposable thumbs wiping away tears from feelings of inadequacy and regret... me got some bold moves to make, yuh know.

*smooches...surrounding myself with art and life and words*
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Spring is right around the corner and I hardly have time for a bout of depression.

You'll Have To Excuse Lady Estrogen...

But before I get into this very important message from the Lady, let me remind you that:

1- you missed my show last night (except for my loyalest of loyal listeners... love you guys!), and

2- it was about Women's History Month and

3- you can download the podcast here: Monday Musings

--------------------------

And now, her message...

Lani: What the hell is it with men?
ME: The Y chromosome is a birth defect

*smooches...telling it like it is*
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I can't help what The Lady says when she's around... she's angry and bloated and crampy, and usually takes it out on people who don't menstruate: kids, old ladies and men.

Members Of The Girl Army, Please Rise...

March is Women's History Month.

An entire month devoted to the AWESOMENESS that is the female gender. So of course you know I had to do a show about it!

Tonight on Monday Musings I am devoting an entire hour to the trailblazing women who've come before me, the ones who are making a difference today, and the ones that I know are poised to make difference tomorrow.

I'd also love to hear from listeners-- who are some of the women who've influenced your life? Made you want to be better? Do better?

A lot of us will name women in our families, or teachers we've had along the way, and that's great. Those are the real role models; those are the unsung heroes we need to hear about.

Won't you join me?



Same time (10PM EST).
Same place (www.BlogTalkRadio.com/thejadednyer).
No excuses.

And yes, this will be on the final!

*smooches...looking forward to a wonderful estrogen-fueled evening*
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no give-aways this time (it's a recession, dammit), but I'd still love to hear from all my phenomenal women tonight.

Jaded Photographs 2009: March Edition

"Santo Domingo Invita"

*smooches...looking forward to our family vacation this summer*
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last time I stepped foot over there was to attend Grandma's funeral; I guess it's time to make amends with the island...