tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19615755919228593992024-03-04T23:52:07.366-06:00Fantastical RandomocityI hate writing...and I love ellipses. Ride with me.K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.comBlogger240125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-51000138248397186732018-05-23T10:00:00.000-05:002018-05-23T10:00:00.424-05:00Movin' on...So I decided to move away from blogspot and get my own personalized URL.<br />
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The blog title is still “Fantastical Randomocity.”<br />
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You’re still gonna get these chronicles.<br />
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And I still don’t like to write.<br />
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So head on over to <a href="http://www.fantasticallyrandom.com/">http://www.fantasticallyrandom.com</a> and subscribe.<br />
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All the old posts are there, so you can relive the various chronicles. Or go back and anonymously comment since certain aspects of my life is so disappointing to you.<br />
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LOL Yes, that happened.<br />
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I'm still playing around with the designs, so bare with me. I work with numbers for a living, not websites.<br />
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Thanks for rocking with me, y'all. See ya over there!<br />
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K to the…<br />
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K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-27331896978447347172018-05-16T10:00:00.000-05:002018-05-16T10:13:40.982-05:00Call me "Michaela"Since childhood, I haven’t felt entirely comfortable with being in or near bodies of water. In high school, I did the bare minimum to pass swimming class –
floating and maybe some breathing underwater. That was about it.<br />
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Fast forward some 20 years later.<br />
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After seeing a fellow
Bradley alum post a pic on Facebook after her swim class at the same gym I go
to on the regular, I knew it was time to stop shullbitting. I immediately went
on Speedo’s website to order a one-piece swimsuit, a swim cap and some goggles.
A couple of days later, I registered for a 6-week adult swim class.<br />
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Well, I am happy to write that I officially know how to freestyle swim, and I can float on my stomach and back. I signed up for another 6-week session so I can continue to work on my breathing while swimming, and treading. Our instructor stated she wants to teach us how to breaststroke and backstroke in the next session.<br />
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Yay-yer!!! <o:p></o:p><br />
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I’m so excited about this new skill I have learned. Now, not only can I look good in my bikini, but I can also not worry about drowning! I'm definitely going to find Nemo while snorkeling and/or jump off a cliff into river during my next island vacation.<br />
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Just call me Michaela Phelps.</div>
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K to the...<br />
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K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-37869798181647661242018-03-29T10:00:00.000-05:002018-03-29T10:00:14.532-05:00Control Yo Bitch: A Rant About West Loop Dog Owners<strike>Studies have shown</strike> I believe one of the prerequisites to live in the West Loop is to own a dog. There is no grass along the street I walk each morning, so it’s normal for me to see dogs relieving themselves in the middle of the sidewalk. I see a minimum of 5 piss trails every morning while walking to work.<br />
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Then, there are the dog owners who half-ass pick up their dogs poop; or don’t pick it up at all. It’s worse when there is snow on the ground. The dog owners just say “Eff it” and leave the poop chillin on top of the snow.<br />
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Shit has gotten out of control...literally.<br />
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I used to love seeing dogs walking with their owners. Then one day, I was strolling to work in the West Loop, when out of a nowhere, some dog almost runs into me. What irritated me about this instance is THE DOG WAS ON A LEASH! I thought the purpose of a leash was to control the dog.<br />
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Now when I'm walking to work, I don’t move out the way for the dog. You betta yank that leash to get your dog out of my way, or deal with it being kicked as I'm walking. I’m not apologizing either. Teach your dog some manners.<br />
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Control yo' bitch, B!<br />
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K to the...K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-66938092297215412382018-02-23T10:00:00.000-06:002018-02-23T10:00:01.425-06:00Mardi Gras 2018 Pt Deux: "It's 'burr-GUN-dee'"Aaaaahh...the reason I'm here has arrived.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b><span style="color: #674ea7;">Mar</span><span style="color: #f1c232;">di G</span><span style="color: #38761d;">ras</span> </b></span><br />
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The day to just have fun, and indulge. I was going to hit up Zulu, hang out a bit after the parade, get some grub, then hit Bourbon Street until the police clear the streets at midnight. I had my Timbs in the trunk ready because you just don't wear your good shoes on Bourbon Street. I had no intentions of bringing those boots back to Chicago.<br />
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Well, the day went 75% as planned. And those boots came back with me. LOL<br />
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The Zulu parade starts at 8a. I knew I had some time before the parade got to where I'd be posted. However, I wanted to make sure I had a decent parking spot, as well. So I left out around 830a and hit up Winn Dixie for my drank of the day. I decide to get it crackin' with Kraken and Coke. I found a parking spot about half a mile from where my new aunties told me to meet them. I po' up enough to last for a few hours of sipping, and walk to the spot. Sure enough, my aunties were where they said they would be. I met some of their fam and close friends and was introduced as the "niece from Chicago."<br />
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As we're waiting on the parade, we're talking about the goings-on of the previous night. I go "I parked on Burgundy and walked over to Canal Street for the parades." They laughed. Down there, that word is pronounced with the accent on the second syllable. I mentioned where I parked that day, and said "OR-lins." They let me know it's "or-LEENS". For the rest of our time together, I'd randomly go up to them and say "It's 'or-LEENS' and 'bur-GUN-dee." Once the rum hit me and I kept saying "we outcheah" they were like "You got it!" Good times, man.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2IeKm_SfRyCPtWMihlHCyrWC3kPedf7cmrB6uJZMZLOtH0U8apKAntT52aATuyijBmucFDC_9_BqJQoaT7Aynlvr8ie1oLp1KZ4M8lm-9gGSZdlg6yro6PtxQFef3zfFM10hsOq9zd0/s1600/IMG_2053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1160" data-original-width="1544" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2IeKm_SfRyCPtWMihlHCyrWC3kPedf7cmrB6uJZMZLOtH0U8apKAntT52aATuyijBmucFDC_9_BqJQoaT7Aynlvr8ie1oLp1KZ4M8lm-9gGSZdlg6yro6PtxQFef3zfFM10hsOq9zd0/s320/IMG_2053.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Auntie Wanda and I</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-nxBX97cI9pvYkdmfOaKgjozT0UUcSNW7SdjQvdPWJ5CV9qlEb-uad6dt0UZ3dcOtqOnnpNyVcz398puaeWGMikRQAB_89_Fw_2m54mzAHLnrPEMPriWNc9HwePnznWpGv2LSR3Lvks/s1600/IMG_2054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH-nxBX97cI9pvYkdmfOaKgjozT0UUcSNW7SdjQvdPWJ5CV9qlEb-uad6dt0UZ3dcOtqOnnpNyVcz398puaeWGMikRQAB_89_Fw_2m54mzAHLnrPEMPriWNc9HwePnznWpGv2LSR3Lvks/s320/IMG_2054.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crawfish fries for breakfast because Fat Tuedsday</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJnLDKblfDZCR0l5AMw4gxAy5rRtT_35UkGfdXUy1p0YWCTIiW2mb7U-l_g4tZiaLaFCxWMz1fU4JXE5dcGwjhbndZG7JQdU8i93v8Zh8VFWqTe1y9ZOM5ZurQHW6w6jbreUoiovahm7I/s1600/IMG_2056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJnLDKblfDZCR0l5AMw4gxAy5rRtT_35UkGfdXUy1p0YWCTIiW2mb7U-l_g4tZiaLaFCxWMz1fU4JXE5dcGwjhbndZG7JQdU8i93v8Zh8VFWqTe1y9ZOM5ZurQHW6w6jbreUoiovahm7I/s320/IMG_2056.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Missy Elliott made an appearance</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCyPasvCMKEILoQFpcFB0MrFjCbgd9cbY9j1aLlr0wc0GJ4_b9I0l5E5bUrTCZc1l3sVoPbEJ4PMTTNxA5Xhjvrixldv9pDogmVKBFCQ5jgrPmz9Jb_VfBhbTMl2OWfKaBhilH5PT-yrk/s1600/IMG_2059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCyPasvCMKEILoQFpcFB0MrFjCbgd9cbY9j1aLlr0wc0GJ4_b9I0l5E5bUrTCZc1l3sVoPbEJ4PMTTNxA5Xhjvrixldv9pDogmVKBFCQ5jgrPmz9Jb_VfBhbTMl2OWfKaBhilH5PT-yrk/s320/IMG_2059.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Jesus Freaks, as I like to call them, being haters.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqstpSChUMzTyr_Hmpr779n2KfFCLa_oj3kMYckUNekGQqXrLy6p8VRNOqGQgacFTJCxdfrMSVKULwm3hPF-755pWJJi3pPr04vAH-tWos2s-c3rbNN2M-kn9WUpgVXqliLgkZzV1Dzds/s1600/IMG_2063.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1160" data-original-width="1544" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqstpSChUMzTyr_Hmpr779n2KfFCLa_oj3kMYckUNekGQqXrLy6p8VRNOqGQgacFTJCxdfrMSVKULwm3hPF-755pWJJi3pPr04vAH-tWos2s-c3rbNN2M-kn9WUpgVXqliLgkZzV1Dzds/s320/IMG_2063.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnqJSPPh_6eD3_0SgcnBo_0iB6ySCbaa4vJW94oW6LAGabSojHbByiXX_exn9aj7mk9TFWMcAmV7nyUwi2cp6qokEWNGuv-t3SL0n7JD0IFgsLmBBE8LehH9ogKjuKyauDzkE1N9SoXUM/s1600/IMG_2067.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnqJSPPh_6eD3_0SgcnBo_0iB6ySCbaa4vJW94oW6LAGabSojHbByiXX_exn9aj7mk9TFWMcAmV7nyUwi2cp6qokEWNGuv-t3SL0n7JD0IFgsLmBBE8LehH9ogKjuKyauDzkE1N9SoXUM/s320/IMG_2067.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lil mama was waiting too!</td></tr>
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The parade finally shows up around 1230p. Of course, it's live! Laughs, pics with strangers, getting toys from the floats for kids behind me...it was just like being around hella family. And the weather was perfect! A big difference from the day before.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM8m2bKTgEnplou38XCySWuwKPEN0Nz_NiMX_4SFxwaBoLaw4_I6WRmPpmFHngjUc5wR_QTerAYr08qLxt-1P6eQReVqTnYcAiH5svnloffC8AkSSqRD4B_6KnsiIliyGPdluoWesvF5w/s1600/IMG_2076.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1160" data-original-width="1544" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM8m2bKTgEnplou38XCySWuwKPEN0Nz_NiMX_4SFxwaBoLaw4_I6WRmPpmFHngjUc5wR_QTerAYr08qLxt-1P6eQReVqTnYcAiH5svnloffC8AkSSqRD4B_6KnsiIliyGPdluoWesvF5w/s320/IMG_2076.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With all the aunties, and Wanda's twin sons.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-lHLfaaE4J7FeWORVKO4aD9S_bS1bgkdqVpOPg8S5-cpSvdks8dkkESPLs3jVGYxjht6N7Fn4ri90bvX_H5pgO6IYkgucyCElXcddD6mXL0EK5xOIm6lJfpR12XrvnCysbnQZGJS5LCQ/s1600/IMG_2082.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-lHLfaaE4J7FeWORVKO4aD9S_bS1bgkdqVpOPg8S5-cpSvdks8dkkESPLs3jVGYxjht6N7Fn4ri90bvX_H5pgO6IYkgucyCElXcddD6mXL0EK5xOIm6lJfpR12XrvnCysbnQZGJS5LCQ/s320/IMG_2082.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zulu Tramps</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9FyZllJtEx4AiKxnC5PgkaZX-Viagj1Upxk1Cxxil2tH3PvsMT2G5_Zv5bJsiFq4rXlagh5c41DPWryHmNge503NKt0D-k-nf3j6zJm0KEJE42_swTu1_-2XuT0rlm5oqrasOUnyZlFM/s1600/IMG_2084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9FyZllJtEx4AiKxnC5PgkaZX-Viagj1Upxk1Cxxil2tH3PvsMT2G5_Zv5bJsiFq4rXlagh5c41DPWryHmNge503NKt0D-k-nf3j6zJm0KEJE42_swTu1_-2XuT0rlm5oqrasOUnyZlFM/s320/IMG_2084.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zulu Tramps</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2RBy01uFyfOiT-MiXufOdLkq3jshx7fcpriLjeDWAQ6OsK1tTN7uMT5Q95W42GQS_mjKTdq7gvkz9xmacRx67W4QEUReE53uLz24oJXJwCCNmQmlMqSPwfMXFJCCcWKUJwAJfTDTDTww/s1600/IMG_2086+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2RBy01uFyfOiT-MiXufOdLkq3jshx7fcpriLjeDWAQ6OsK1tTN7uMT5Q95W42GQS_mjKTdq7gvkz9xmacRx67W4QEUReE53uLz24oJXJwCCNmQmlMqSPwfMXFJCCcWKUJwAJfTDTDTww/s320/IMG_2086+%25281%2529.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zulu Tramps</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitguktCJYLBVyZYuqcS_GiBx0E8zlQxVpbaZ3TZbblgp7JUMSxBxmkNE63hUlHke9QosFhrM-bKFDoRUCt7N3RAfn3T2Zv2F8hgZQ6AFrJIEAdEIW6Vuy2Yd94q5oOkAnktVuQ1E36qhY/s1600/IMG_2088.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitguktCJYLBVyZYuqcS_GiBx0E8zlQxVpbaZ3TZbblgp7JUMSxBxmkNE63hUlHke9QosFhrM-bKFDoRUCt7N3RAfn3T2Zv2F8hgZQ6AFrJIEAdEIW6Vuy2Yd94q5oOkAnktVuQ1E36qhY/s320/IMG_2088.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Self-explanatory</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMc2fq75E6n_G3Tm7UjDvFlCzE4wNBaaGRChZEgekZ0_Z3uTMBHTPlpdIew6ZfGDD8aUkTn9yMEX_FyDi5RVjAES2sJTo6tENYe7Dsm9GwjFRPOM7j0mYuk0rjTiZLLapO5SnID4TpKVw/s1600/IMG_2117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMc2fq75E6n_G3Tm7UjDvFlCzE4wNBaaGRChZEgekZ0_Z3uTMBHTPlpdIew6ZfGDD8aUkTn9yMEX_FyDi5RVjAES2sJTo6tENYe7Dsm9GwjFRPOM7j0mYuk0rjTiZLLapO5SnID4TpKVw/s320/IMG_2117.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spike!</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs8efZI6ge5MrAWzT8F9WwW6f2-jHZdQbMoojYFYgGNOo-oBcCsT_PZAYFAfiMhr1_5JQzHVuKnMwEZ35CG778Qec0E67v7vhckyXcLAf109Y4VepHK1iS5-IYh4SjLV3xlGyJTmcaTl4/s1600/IMG_2136.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1160" data-original-width="1544" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs8efZI6ge5MrAWzT8F9WwW6f2-jHZdQbMoojYFYgGNOo-oBcCsT_PZAYFAfiMhr1_5JQzHVuKnMwEZ35CG778Qec0E67v7vhckyXcLAf109Y4VepHK1iS5-IYh4SjLV3xlGyJTmcaTl4/s320/IMG_2136.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Family</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoov8qxwPTBLeq3wtuQcy8WkhZGXQYcybXCQSlMOcapMDUo4h785wqdy_L8c5gsX8KvD2L-71r4iRuyG_Tb58O24kMcoJkc-pJqvqI30WfoAdwIhRp0U92BdTHJ-dFHoVqlp7lZe3ZIqc/s1600/IMG_2173.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1160" data-original-width="1544" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoov8qxwPTBLeq3wtuQcy8WkhZGXQYcybXCQSlMOcapMDUo4h785wqdy_L8c5gsX8KvD2L-71r4iRuyG_Tb58O24kMcoJkc-pJqvqI30WfoAdwIhRp0U92BdTHJ-dFHoVqlp7lZe3ZIqc/s320/IMG_2173.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Some of the come-up</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Play on playa!</td></tr>
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After the parade ends, I head to hang out under the bridge (I-10 overpass). I finally got to see the Mardi Gras Indians in action, and man were they pretty!<br />
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I watched Skip, Big Freedia's former dancer, perform his Wikki Line slide. I couldn't get it. Also, I'm Krak'ed up! LOL He posted a pic of him performing, on IG, with a caption that read "Me performing at MARDI GRAS under Bridge. GOD is Good! IT was Movie." I hope he wasn't talking about HIS performance was a movie. I was right there, man. It was more like a Vine clip. But, ya know...whatever.<br />
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After this, things get fuzzy. I had to look at significant locations in my phone to track when I got to certain places. I didn't make it to Bourbon Street. This is why I brought those Timbs back to Chicago. LOL I got back to the B&B around 1030p, maxed some Wendy's and crashed. X_X </div>
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I wasn't leaving until Thursday, so I still had two extra days to enjoy the city. I browsed and ate lunch at the French Market, ate beignets at Cafe Beignet, and went to see the Pelicans play the Lakers later that night. A real chill day.<br />
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Before heading to the airport on Thursday, I went back to the French Quarter. Had lunch on Bourbon St while listening to some live music, drank half of a Hand Grenade (Remember, I said I washed in Part 1? X_X) then walked through Louis Armstrong Park. Within the park is Congo Square, where the slaves gathered on Sundays to sing and dance. I sat on the bench in silence, just thinking about what it was like for them to have that one day to express themselves freely. I left the park, drove around, giving myself a tour of the city to help pass the time before heading to the airport.</div>
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While at the airport, Auntie Wanda called to see if I made it home, safely. We had some good laughs about Tuesday's shenanigans. Regardless of me going to Dallas or she coming to Chicago this year, we will be seeing each other next year in New Orleans. </div>
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March 5, 2019.<br />
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Room already booked.</div>
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Ya heard meh?</div>
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K to the...</div>
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K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-50393528791770225092018-02-21T10:00:00.000-06:002018-02-21T10:20:15.843-06:00Mardi Gras 2018: "It's 'or-LEENS'"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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On Mardi Gras 2017, which was just a regular auss Tuesday in Chicago, I told myself I would be in New Orleans for Mardi Gras in 2018. I saw the dates and thought if I have a beau, he can come, too. If not, then we won't be seeing each other on Valentine's Day.<br />
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Then September came, and there was a beau in the picture. I mentioned it to him, he was down. So a road trip was planned, including an overnight stop in a city for some fun before getting to New Orleans. Oh, it was going to be our first trip together, our first Valentine's Day together, and it was going to be fun. Then November came, and there was no beau in the picture. However, in 2017...<br />
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I was going to list the top moments of this trip, like I did for my birthday trip. But going through all the pics and videos. I couldnt. So, this post is Part 1 of my posts about Mardi Gras Trip 2018.<br />
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I arrived in New Orleans for Mardi Gras for the first time since 2011 on Sunday afternoon. First thing I ate? A shrimp po' boy, baybeh! The guy shucking the oysters paid for my meal because he thought I was cute. This was a sign that this trip would be one to remember...for the most part<span style="color: red;">*</span>. That night, I went to check out Tank &The Bangas and Big Freedia. I had seen Big Freedia perform in Chicago, so I knew what to expect.<br />
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"A whole lotta whole lotta whole lotta ass!"<br />
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Tank & The Bangas, though!?! They puts on a show, nahmean!? I feel like artists go hard when performing in their hometown. So seeing the artists perform in their home city during Mardi Gras season was a delight. So, Night 1? LIVE!<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Tank & The Bangas</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Big Freedia</span></div>
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Monday, I picked up my rental and was able to roam free. I got my eyebrows snatched, and hit up Zulu's <a href="http://www.lundigrasfestival.com/">Lundi Gras festival</a> at the riverfront. Shoutout to my homie, Thomika, for the suggestion. As I’m walking through the park, I saw a man in front of me rocking a Hales Franciscan varsity jacket.<br />
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Chicago spidey senses: [On] Off.<br />
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He was a fellow Chicagoan, rocking his son's jacket.<br />
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I made my way to the main stage to watch a group perform Motown jams, while sippin a Hurricane<span style="color: red;">**</span>, and vibing. There were a group of people next to me who took a big auss group pic. I JUST so happen to be in the perfect spot for a subtle photo bomb. One of the ladies reviewed the pic, started cracking up, and came to me to show the pic. This is when I met my new aunties.<br />
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Wanda and her crew are originally from New Orleans, but reside in Dallas. I rocked with them for the rest of my time at the festival. I asked them where they will be watching the Zulu parade - the only parade that matters to me on Tuesday. They let me know the exact location, told them I'd be there. Before we departed, like true aunties, they told me to be careful and made me carry my little purse under my jacket so nobody could snatch it.<br />
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My buzz is gone and I gotta pee. As I'm looking for a bar whose bathroom and rum (Ha!) I can use, I ran into the naked cowboy, and his wife, who insisted on taking pic together.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Naked Cowboy and I</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi9oI6NDdx7PqjuOeipdsVKNF-qJhgfd2yehGPXll0N3GyHo69ZQ6e0qoiiLkH2OB_EdxElVpFgq5qJ7W7RJf_4BL9FdUHw-qL_nf22KVTE9Jw2oQxUKKvrICqkeLCbAkp8_qio9754i0/s1600/IMG_1990.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi9oI6NDdx7PqjuOeipdsVKNF-qJhgfd2yehGPXll0N3GyHo69ZQ6e0qoiiLkH2OB_EdxElVpFgq5qJ7W7RJf_4BL9FdUHw-qL_nf22KVTE9Jw2oQxUKKvrICqkeLCbAkp8_qio9754i0/s320/IMG_1990.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Decatur where it's greater"</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ow oooowwwww!</td></tr>
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While sipping my drink, I start chatting with two girls who reside in NYC. They said they were about to hit up Deanie's. I told them the food was great and they randomly invited me to dinner with them. While standing in line waiting to get in Deanie's, there is a guy from Chicago standing behind us who was meeting with his cousin, also from Chicago. So now, he's joining us for dinner. LOL We ate, and parted ways, knowing I'd never see them again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEbjZ4xkz7QOuYXdkYMnIKE-NZqSzS4SyQrNX2EyqPOZaLy-41gjqIeg63Gyhc_xjFhQILHi_ayL8EnJ1KW7NIz4SN30b_4ElNyqqZsj7hTeyT4FGCw6l7-n5pdEUjHEnIjtPqW7XBne8/s1600/IMG_1995.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEbjZ4xkz7QOuYXdkYMnIKE-NZqSzS4SyQrNX2EyqPOZaLy-41gjqIeg63Gyhc_xjFhQILHi_ayL8EnJ1KW7NIz4SN30b_4ElNyqqZsj7hTeyT4FGCw6l7-n5pdEUjHEnIjtPqW7XBne8/s320/IMG_1995.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grubbin' at Deanie's</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Stephanie and Nicky</td></tr>
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Now it's time for the parades - Proteus and Orpheus. And, bih, it's cold and windy! I met Michael Jordan's long-lost twin brother, had a shot with some folk from Cali (that shot glass on my beads always comes in handy), and caught hella throws (some I gave to others). It was a fun night.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proteus Parade</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proteus parade</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Proteus parade</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fire trucks signals the end of the parade</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Too cool on Canal St</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU_BbDAyz_uzQlIuaydOa8XWImfBgcfQg-CXXhy8m16rHzuGrAbWSuaMhf4W6-czOrVSzDYLxYhDPf2Zlunc-dKQQJ7BEOWSoI88XWH2schZP42L6yZ5oMykSAZ00EXMQtyyrtbxjzekc/s1600/IMG_2016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU_BbDAyz_uzQlIuaydOa8XWImfBgcfQg-CXXhy8m16rHzuGrAbWSuaMhf4W6-czOrVSzDYLxYhDPf2Zlunc-dKQQJ7BEOWSoI88XWH2schZP42L6yZ5oMykSAZ00EXMQtyyrtbxjzekc/s320/IMG_2016.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Police truck to signal beginning of a parade</td></tr>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dya5lenRb2hEAuYwVwbo85K3apAB0MeuoF4-MGmW3uey3vT9oTYDZDZr7C3ITnvAUdvRe9xPejUdIt-NNo7ug' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">My favorite float at Orpheus. Night-time parades are so pretty</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6u20-qnzeKfNfMDlnJLtuSTna6Z9Mhem1YfszlY2GST_OfUixWCrBxhbkO3ga13racdyFtXiaO_vFW0NJlecryoU4tgl4mTM_Qsg93wZn5KEhoaEguCHXiIEoX-VT8-VlpGqN7XwaaKU/s1600/IMG_2049.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1544" data-original-width="1160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6u20-qnzeKfNfMDlnJLtuSTna6Z9Mhem1YfszlY2GST_OfUixWCrBxhbkO3ga13racdyFtXiaO_vFW0NJlecryoU4tgl4mTM_Qsg93wZn5KEhoaEguCHXiIEoX-VT8-VlpGqN7XwaaKU/s320/IMG_2049.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You see the trusty shot glass</td></tr>
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Sunday night and Monday were lit. Tuesday? Sheeeeiiiid! You see the first asterisk explanation below. X_X </div>
<br />
Rest of the trip discussed in Part 2.<br />
<br />
K to the...<br />
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<span style="color: red;">*</span>There is a 4 hour window during which I'm not sure what went down. I just know where I safely arrived. LOL<br />
<span style="color: red;">**</span>My very first time in New Orleans, I couldn't stand this drink. I thought it was weak...pass me the Hand Grenade! However, I appreciate the drink more, now that I'm older, and can barely finish a Hand Grenade. I'm washed.K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-36965492430046012642018-01-29T09:30:00.000-06:002018-02-21T09:36:50.305-06:00Bifcake Chronicles: T-I-RedI’m tired of men.<br />
<br />
I’m tired of men wasting my unlimited text messages.<br />
<br />
I’m tired of men who are really f*ckboys, and the people who enable their f*ckboy behavior.<br />
<br />
I’m tired of men not respecting the f*cking boundaries I set. Do I seriously have to go Ella Jackson on men, and risk being called a bitch, for them to understand that I mean what I said?!<br />
<br />
While getting my day pordee on this weekend, I received a text from someone I hadn't heard from since August. Back then, I clearly told him I wasn't interested in being his girl. Anybody who is a fan of "Dr." Umar Johnson is not someone I want to be with. I clearly stated we can still be cool or cordial when we see each other; no hard feelings.<br />
<br />
Back to Saturday, after realizing who it is (number was no longer in my phone), I responded with pleasantries and there was some back and forth. At some point, the correspondence takes a turn for the worst:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitoxkDJInPrUzUlDkWQnDBl0szL8SKHhIAsCGpHjdClBi5VGWPS0dWO9tIdEVXkenWMEOYStVbgWKmbJYJly2uX7jJcLzMO0OOBCWCvOSGa-eSNh_vA_pQ195KCwRVILP-3Djih-LAE-4/s1600/IMG_1855.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="886" data-original-width="1125" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitoxkDJInPrUzUlDkWQnDBl0szL8SKHhIAsCGpHjdClBi5VGWPS0dWO9tIdEVXkenWMEOYStVbgWKmbJYJly2uX7jJcLzMO0OOBCWCvOSGa-eSNh_vA_pQ195KCwRVILP-3Djih-LAE-4/s320/IMG_1855.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
So now, his number is blocked.<br />
<br />
I. Am. Tired!<br />
<br />
K to the...K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-13342991607075065822018-01-22T10:15:00.000-06:002018-01-22T10:17:34.272-06:00Randomocity - 1.22.18-Since the start of the new year, the time I spend on Facebook and Instagram has decreased dramatically. I don't scroll much to see what's going on in other folks' lives. I'll scroll for a few posts, then exit. If I post something, I'm coming back only to respond to comments. I know I am missing out on a lot. And I’m OK with that.<br />
<br />
-I saw someone post a question on FB asking what is the latest folk want to start having kids. This made me think about what 22-year-old KD’s plans were. By this age, my oldest should be in kindergarten by now; and I should be celebrating somewhere between 5 - 10 years of marriage this year.<br />
<br />
Bwahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahhahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!!!<br />
<br />
-A status from 2017 popped up in my FB memories last week about men asking women, on the first date, if they've had an abortion. Guys were commenting on my status trying to justify why someone would ask that question (<i><b>Newsflash: You can't justify why someone would ask that question</b></i>) and it made me think of the previous beau telling me what he adores about me and goes:<br />
<br />
"...and you haven't had any abortions. Wait, you haven't had any abortions, right?"<br />
<br />
Me: "That's never an appropriate question to ask. How would you feel if I asked if you paid for any abortions?"<br />
<br />
-"Why? What's the worst thing R. Kelly has ever done?" - question asked by a man at a party this past weekend after I said R. Kelly on, so I'm not dancing at the moment.<br />
<br />
-I had a conversation with an 88-year-old at my gym about dating as a widower. If I was at least 45 years older, I'd definitely hang out with him. He was so cool.<br />
<br />
-Last year, on Ash Wednesday last year, I said I was going to be in New Orleans for Mardi Gras in 2018. I'm 3 weeks away from being in my favorite city. Someone else will have to pass out beads at the gig this year.<br />
<br />
-DJ Envy and Charlamagne Tha God sounded soooooo ignorant while interviewing Amara La Negra on The Breakfast Club. Ugh!<br />
<br />
K to the...K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-66007263697652843912018-01-09T13:00:00.000-06:002018-01-09T13:36:32.214-06:00Bifcake Chronicles: Plenty of NAWLOn the last Friday of 2017, due to pure boredom while waiting on a technician to repair the furnace, I created an account on Plenty of Fish (POF). I did this strictly for entertainment. Well, it was a mixture of entertainment and "If you don't get the fuh..."<br />
<br />
I only had my account for 48 hours (LOL) because it's only so many ridiculously lame intros I can take. One dude was so ridiculous with his intro, I had to ask “Is this a serious question?”<br />
<br />
What did he ask?<br />
<br />
If I had to put in a lot of effort to be as beautiful as I am (ya know, using make-up and everything), or is it natural?<br />
<br />
*pours wine on phone*<br />
<br />
Another dude asked what I was doing June 2018, because he was going to wine and dine me, then take me to Jamaica, and some other fantasy ish. Then he said we’d live “somewhat happily ever after.”<br />
<br />
Somewhat?<br />
<br />
I can't be fully happy!?<br />
<br />
In the “Conversation Starter” section of my profile, I stated “Yes, I play basketball. No, you can’t play for my heart,” because maugs think they are so clever with that “Love & Basketball” quote.<br />
<br />
One guy asked “Can you play ball or do you just like to watch?”<br />
<br />
Reading is fundamental, man.<br />
<br />
Another guy said it didn’t seem like I played ball…because I was too cute to sweat.<br />
<br />
*throws phone in toilet*<br />
<br />
I personally know someone who met their spouse on POF.<br />
<br />
That won't be me, though.<br />
<br />
And I'm OK with that.<br />
<br />
Happy New Year #nshit<br />
<br />
K to the…<br />
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K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-82968980942081404062017-12-08T08:26:00.003-06:002018-02-22T09:16:40.704-06:0035 Things about my 35th Birthday Trip<ol>
<li>The weather</li>
<li>The eye candy</li>
<li>The accents</li>
<li>All-inclusive</li>
<li>Dancehall routines with Jamaicans and keeping up with them</li>
<li>Meditating while laying in a hammock</li>
<li>The bartender, Kemar, keeping me right at the 24-hr bar</li>
<li>The view every morning when I opened my eyes</li>
<li>Drinking while in the pool</li>
<li>Eating foods I never ate before</li>
<li>Appleton rum</li>
<li>Catching up on 3 months of Essence mag in the sun</li>
<li>Having genuine convos with strangers from different countries</li>
<li>My birthday dress</li>
<li>Meeting two other ladies who were celebrating their birthdays</li>
<li>Flirting with the son of one of those ladies and his mother encouraging it</li>
<li>My body in the birthday dress</li>
<li>ATV riding</li>
<li>Zip lining through the forest</li>
<li>Tubing on the river</li>
<li>Authentic Jamaican cuisine</li>
<li>The entire restaurant singing “Happy Birthday” to me</li>
<li>“NO MORE!” to the ladies who kept bringing me champagne</li>
<li>Watching a steel drum band perform live for the first time</li>
<li>Seeing a “3” hat setting off my Chicago spidey senses (The group was from Chicago...Bronzeville)</li>
<li>Knowing a man was from Detroit or Chicago by the way he dressed (It was Chicago)</li>
<li>A lazy day of hanging on the beach and then by the pool</li>
<li>The lazy day bartender, Demar, and that smile</li>
<li>“Empreeeesssssss” (girlfriend)</li>
<li>A lady telling me Canadians don’t last long in bed, after juicin' two of them on the trip</li>
<li>A spliff giving me the giggle fits on my last night</li>
<li>Never feeling lonely, though I took the trip solo dolo</li>
<li>“I saw you in that black & white dress the other night. Are you a model?” -Someone’s White Auntie</li>
<li>The love from everyone who made my trip memorable as I said goodbye.</li>
<li>This glorious suntan, along with 137 mosquito bites</li>
</ol>
<br />
WHAT A TRIP! ☺️☺️☺️<br />
<br />
K to the...K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-26040345895057029882017-11-28T10:00:00.000-06:002017-11-28T10:00:07.387-06:00Bifcake Chronicles: Same Sh*t, Different ToiletWhat I have been going through the past 4-5 weeks is similar to what one experiences in a physically abusive relationship.<br />
<br />
Your partner hits you.<br />
They see you're hurt.<br />
They apologize, say they will do better<br />
Then the following week, you're watching what you say or do so you don't provoke him<br />
Yet, your partner hits you again<br />
They see you're hurt.<br />
They apologize, say they will do better.<br />
Then the following week, you're watching what you say or do so you don't provoke him<br />
Yet...<br />
<br />
Replace those hits with insecurities projected on to you. For weeks I have been walking on eggshells as I try to be there for someone who is adjusting to life. I knew what was I getting myself into, however I was secure enough in myself to handle it. However, me being secure couldn't stop those "hits" though. No matter how much I compromised...it was never enough.<br />
<br />
So, he says "Goodbye forever," however I'm supposed to respond to texts and phone calls with the same empty ass apology, afterwards? I should consider at least being friends with someone who said he didn't want to be my friend? Continue to be there for someone who doesn't fully appreciate all that I, along with everyone else who cares, had done for him?<br />
<br />
Why would I want to go back to that? What makes he or anyone else thinks he deserves me as a friend right now...or ever again?<br />
<br />
Insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results.<br />
<br />
I'm back to being sane.<br />
<br />
K to the...K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-29597355892834199492017-08-02T11:15:00.000-05:002017-08-02T11:15:09.933-05:00Cubicle Chronicles: No Fines HereI really think it’s rude when people walk in the office and don’t say good morning.<br />
<br />
Especially if they are your coworkers.<br />
<br />
And y’all in the same department that consists of only 4 people.<br />
<br />
And nobody drinks coffee, so the “I need my coffee first” excuse can’t be used.<br />
<br />
This is what I deal with every day with one of my coworkers. Unless he has a question, he’ll walk by my desk multiple times a day<b><span style="color: red;">*</span></b>, and not utter a word to me. He easily speaks to my other coworker, Ditzy Daisy (who started with him a year and a half ago), and the ladies that sit across the aisle from us who are part of another department.<br />
<br />
Also, he’s is just like Issa’s whispering coworker on “Awkward Black Girl.” So, not only do you act like I slept with you last night<b><span style="color: red;">**</span></b>, but I have to stop breathing to hear what you’re saying, too?!<br />
<br />
Dis tew much.<br />
<br />
Before Mr. Whisper In Your Ear and Ditzy Daisy arrived, our team dynamic was great! Now? Not so much. And I've stopped trying to make it better. Now that I’ve realized there is a generational gap between my coworkers and I (30s vs late 40s/early 50s), the differences between how they work vs how I work are making more sense to me. You want to ask someone in another department for help, causing them to vent to me about how much you’ve annoyed them in the past hour because you didn't ask me for help? Cool!<br />
<br />
Not speak to me? Super!<br />
<br />
I’m just here so I don’t get fined.<br />
<br />
K to the…<br />
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<b><span style="color: red;">*</span></b>Though I can’t see him walk by my desk, I can hear him due to whatever he has in his pockets that jingles.<br />
<b><span style="color: red;">**</span></b>When I didn’t say good morning to my grandmother a kid, she would say “Did I sleep with you last night?” I still don't get it, Mei-Mei! I‘ve said good morning to people the morning after I’ve slept w-…wait, what are we talking about here?<br />
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K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-6968971855950496312017-07-24T10:00:00.000-05:002017-07-24T10:00:11.381-05:00Bifcake Chronicles: Will There Be One?If you are friends with me on social media, you will notice there are certain friends with whom I spend the majority of my time. There are six of us in the Chicagoland area, including my g-babies’ auntie, and a friend who stays in Florida. Amongst the six of us here, two are married, one is getting married in the Fall, another is in the process of being a homeowner with her beau, and another one is in the process of no longer describing her relationship as “long-distance.”<br />
<br />
None of the ladies in the previous, long-ass sentence describes yours truly.<br />
<br />
Womp.<br />
<br />
The one who is moving away (DJ) has been my rider. Because her beau doesn’t reside here and she doesn’t have kids, she can just get up and go when an idea pops up in either of our heads. But with her leaving, who will be the person I can call on when I just want to get up and go? As an introvert, I have no problem doing things by myself. But sometimes, I want someone I know to roll with me, ya know?<br />
<br />
While walking back to the car after a museum visit and some good grubbing, I told DJ that I need someone I can hang with. If there is an adult night and the husbands/beaus/and soon-to-be wife are around, I want to have someone to roll with me so I’m not looking like the <i>nth</i> wheel AGAIN. I want to take a walk downtown and just enjoy the city; or eat some fancy shmancy food at a place I've never been (he doesn't have to pay - we can split the bill); or go to the movies to check out that new [insert Director's name here] movie; or simply chill at the lakefront.<br />
<br />
Basically, I just want some company.<br />
<br />
Will there be one?<br />
<br />
K to the…<br />
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K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-31158752830087559102017-07-13T10:00:00.000-05:002017-07-13T10:00:18.253-05:00Bifcake Chronicles: The Womens Too?<i><span style="color: orange;"><b>“Nobody can walk by with me without dancing with me”</b></span></i><br />
<i>-Someone’s auntie to me at Chosen Few Picnic</i><br />
<br />
I have noticed in the past year that I have had men AND women trying to spit that game. Anybody who knows me knows I don’t care about hanging with my peeps who are part of the LGBTQ community. So, if someone attempts to holla after seeing with whom I was just conversing, I get it. I don’t know what made your auntie holla at me at the picnic because I was walking around solo dolo looking for my peeps.<br />
<br />
The locs?<br />
<br />
The crop top?<br />
<br />
No idea.<br />
<br />
Am I offended when women try to holla? Nope. It actually boosts my ego a little because I know that not only can I get yo daddy…I COULD GET YO AUNTIE TOO, IF I WANTED HER!!!<br />
<br />
LMAO<br />
<br />
Just joshing guys.<br />
<br />
Only about getting your auntie, though.<br />
<br />
I’m not joking about getting your daddy.<br />
<br />
Especially if he has a salt and pepper beard.<br />
<br />
I’ll gladly be your new step-mother.<br />
<br />
Bless up.<br />
<br />
K to the…<br />
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K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-24319145320582896202017-02-23T10:00:00.000-06:002017-02-23T10:00:07.356-06:00Year of the 3-5<i>**Is this really my first post of 2017? Shame on me!**</i><br />
<br />
A goal of mine for 2017 was to travel to at least one place I’ve never been each quarter. For Q1, that place was Houston, TX. For Q2, I wanted to hit up The DR. However, due to moving expenses (yeah...again. *eyeroll*) and a necessary uninsured dental procedure...there won't be a Q2 trip.<br />
<br />
Probably no Q3 trip, as well.<br />
<br />
So I've modified my goal for the Year of the 3-5. Instead of traveling to places I’ve never been, I’m going to do things in my city that I've never done before. During my birthday trip in Philly, we spent hours at Philadelphia Museum of Art (after running the steps like Rocky). However, I have never been to the Art Institute of Chicago. How, Sway?! I recently visited an exhibit the Museum of Science & Industry has had every year since 1970 (WHET!?) showcasing African-American artists. I had no idea that exhibit existed.<br />
<br />
Basically, I’m trying to create new experiences in my city for the Year of the 3-5. And step my Chi-town brunch game up.<br />
<br />
I’m OK with holding off till Q4 to go some place I’ve never been before. That means I have more time to save for a big auss, dope auss trip.<br />
<br />
Let's get it!<br />
<br />
K to the...<br />
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K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-87773056569089397812016-12-28T10:00:00.000-06:002016-12-28T10:00:08.086-06:00Merry Christmas Lil MamaThe past couple of years on Christmas morning, my sis and I have fixed breakfast. Last year, we were cutting up to "Look At My Dab" with my grandmother making a guest appearance.<br />
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<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/_uIsCrOepC/" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">Watch my grandmother though. #🎄↪️⬆️ @kiara_rozayy</a></div>
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A video posted by Vita Corleone (@kd.4) on <time datetime="2015-12-25T16:05:50+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Dec 25, 2015 at 8:05am PST</time></div>
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After hearing Chance The Rapper and Jeremih's new mixtape, I told Kiara "Merry Christmas Lil Mama" will be our cut up song for Christmas 2016. The song is Chicago as hell...and so are we. It was only right.<br />
<br />
So, we record a video lasting almost the entire length of the song. I break it down in 3 parts and post on IG. My mom ends up being in the third video because she came in the kitchen fussing about water running in the sink. That is why Kiara proceeds to juke on her.<br />
<br />
Stop your fussing woman, it's Christmas!<br />
<br />
When I post the videos, I tagged Mr. Bennett in two of them, thanking him for the song. Friends view, like, comment...cool. I leave my phone alone for a couple of hours so it can charge.<br />
<br />
I get back on IG, and I see a gang of random people have liked my videos, and some of them have started following me. I'm thinking "Oh, they must have clicked on the hashtag and found my video. But why are they following me?" I keep scrolling then I see the comment "omg he reposted."<br />
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<a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BOdXNtrBLgM/" style="color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 17px; text-decoration: none; word-wrap: break-word;" target="_blank">#merrychristmaslilmama @kd.4 #repost</a></div>
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A video posted by Chance The Rapper (@chancetherapper) on <time datetime="2016-12-25T23:36:35+00:00" style="font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 17px;">Dec 25, 2016 at 3:36pm PST</time></div>
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<br />
Like my P-town folk say...I was gaggin!<br />
<br />
Not only were randoms liking the vids I posted that morning. Some were going back and liking old posts. Was I supposed to give them a shoutout "for the IG love?" (Do people still do that!?) It was crazy! I turned off comments on the videos, because one idiot made his way to my page just to talk about my Christmas pajamas.<br />
<br />
Uh...OK.<br />
<br />
I've removed SOOOOOO many people as followers. I'm not a creative that is promoting anything, so I didn't need an increase in followers. They were gonna unfollow me, anyway, after seeing that I'm boring. I just helped them out. O_O<br />
<br />
After two days of mayhem in my notifications, my IG is somewhat back to normal. Haleloo!<br />
<br />
A Merry Christmas, indeed, Lil Mama!<br />
<br />
K to the...<br />
<br />
P.S. Hundreds of thousands of people have watch me act a fool...while I wasn't wearing a bra. Geez Louise!<br />
<br />
P.P.S. It was hot as hell in the kitchen. I was dripping in sweat after that video.<br />
<br />K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-19172325760574787642016-12-19T10:00:00.000-06:002016-12-19T11:01:26.789-06:00Pardon my French...This post contains hella caps, randomocity and might cause some to clutch some pearls.<br />
<br />
You've been warned.<br />
<br />
Ready?<br />
<br />
OK.<br />
<br />
<rant><b><span style="font-size: large;">NEWS FLASH FUTHAMUCKAS!!!!</span></b></rant><br />
<rant><b><br /></b></rant>
<rant><b>WOMEN LOVE SEX!</b></rant><br />
<rant><b><br /></b></rant>
<b>WOMEN DON'T ALWAYS CHEAT FOR SOME EMOTIONAL CONNECTION!!!</b><br />
<br />
<b>WOMEN CAN HAVE FWBs WITHOUT WANTING AN EMOTIONAL CONNECTION!!!</b><br />
<br />
Back in my "savage" days (LOL), I had gotten some outside dick (and mouth) with no remorse while in a relationship. No emotional connection. I just wanted a release!<br />
<br />
Also, during a 2nd "savage" period (I am cracking up as I type this post), I had a FWB (who was 11 years my senior) for a good 6 months. Six months of some of the best sex I've ever had on a weekly basis; sometimes twice a week. I had no desire to be in a relationship with this guy.<br />
<br />
Why?<br />
<br />
Because he already had two kids, one close to being a teen. Meaning, he was probably done having kids.<br />
<br />
Why do I say probably?<br />
<br />
<b>BECAUSE THE ONLY CONVERSATIONS WE HAD WERE ABOUT THE TIME I WOULD COME OVER TO GET THE DICK OR WHATEVER WAS ON TV BEFORE THE CLOTHES CAME OFF!</b> I didn't care to know about his future plans, really.<br />
<br />
Why?<br />
<br />
Because, we were just two grown ass people wanting to have some amazing, consensual, safe sex.<br />
<br />
Yes, most of us women are wired to emotionally connect with folk easier than men. See what I said there? "Most of us" That means not all women. My guys have told me about some cold-hearted women they've come across. It's real outcheah, bruh.<br />
<br />
I just want folk to stop treating us women like we are simply weak and emotional. Our vaginas are just as powerful and full of savagery as y'all penises!!! Have you heard the song <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lpBmrdiBAUI">"Pussy" by Jay-Z and Urinator of the Pre-pubescent R. Kelly</a>?!? It's real.<br />
<br />
K to the...K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-69377136231415668902016-12-16T10:00:00.000-06:002016-12-16T10:00:17.715-06:00Body-ody-odyLast week, I went a pop-up shop for <a href="http://instagram.com/828_collection">828 collection</a>. I'm browsing and I come across this dress. I saw the back of the dress and immediately wanted to try it on.<br />
<br />
Let’s pause for a sec about this dress.<br />
<br />
I think all 5 of you reading this know how my body is shaped. Just in case someone stumbles across this post and has never seen me before – Hi. My name is Kenya. I have a pear-shaped body. Small up top, heavy bottom. Treasurer of the Itty Bitty Titty Committee, but Sergeant-At-Arms for This Wagon I’m Draggin Club. There is no 36-24-36…it’s 32-28-40. Mmkay, Pumpkin?<br />
<br />
Back to this dress.<br />
<br />
I usually stay away from dresses that really show my thim slick curves. And I knew this dress would show all the curves the moment I saw it. I was a little hesitant, but I went ahead and tried it on. Ya know...stepping out of my comfort zone.<br />
<br />
I put it on, looked in the mirror and said “Damn!” My newfound enabler buddy <a href="http://instagram.com/bebe_jones">Bebe Jones</a> said “I didn’t know you had all that body!” SHEEEIT! I didn’t either! I had the dress on for about 15 minutes, waiting for Suzette to get a chance to pin and tuck where it was needed (up top, of course). The longer I wore it, the more comfortable I felt in it. And I got it for the low! After the alterations are made, it will be in my possession.<br />
<br />
I don’t know when I’m going to wear it, but when I do, my theme song will be Trina’s “Pull Over”. I’ve treated my body well the past 5 years and it shows. Nothing wrong with wanting to show it off every now and then. ;-)<br />
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K to the…<br />
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K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-60471484085326530652016-12-04T10:00:00.000-06:002016-12-04T10:00:06.061-06:00Smile.I have always looked younger than my actual age. Without knowing anything about me, people always assume I am 10 years or more younger than my actual age.<br />
<br />
"Girl, Black don't crack."<br />
<br />
What I have noticed over the past year are my smile lines. My smile lines have been dry snitching on me in a couple of pics.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, you look young girl. But these smile lines are putting you closer to 40 than 20."<br />
<br />
Does this mean I will be dialing back my smile? Nah! Those smile lines show my happiness. Those smile lines show I am alive. Those smile lines mean I am fortunate enough to get older.<br />
<br />
So as I celebrate 34 today in the City of Brotherly Love, I will be all smiles.<br />
<br />
Happy Birthday to me.<br />
<br />
K to the...K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-36203759635104291092016-10-10T10:00:00.000-05:002016-10-10T10:00:16.264-05:00The Only Thing Constant...Right now, as I type this, I am soooooooo content with the person that I am. You might be reading this and thinking "You shouldn't be content. Strive to be better." And to you, I say "I'm a yogi. Chill." As someone who practices yoga, I like to enjoy the present. If I am constantly looking to the future, I could miss out on the good that is going on now. I strive to be better, no doubt. But right now, I am loving who I am. I am loving Kenya.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<i><b>"If you compare yourself with others,</b></i><br />
<i><b>you may become vain and bitter;</b></i><br />
<i><b>for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.</b></i><br />
<i><b>Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans."</b></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>-Max Ehrmann "Desiderata"</i><br />
<br />
Friday evening, I had an appointment with CarMax to get my car appraised. I was curious to see how much my '08 G6 was worth. I had no idea I'd be leaving CarMax with a '14 jawn in a color that has become my power color since turning 30 - <span style="color: red;">RED</span>! Since my very first car, a '96 Maxima, I've always had JUKBX on my license plates. With this car, that will not be the case. It's crazy, to me, that I even typed that. Jukebox was a college nickname due to me always dancing and playing music. Don't get me wrong...I still do that! I just want something else.<br />
<br />
This year has definitely been a year of change. It was time for me to move back into the city. It was time for me to speak up (more) for myself. It was time for me to be more confident in my field of work due to my experience. It was time for me to let some people go. It was time for me to live it up at Caribana this year. It was time for me to be comfortable with my body and rock that crop top and short shorts with no fear. It was time for me to get a new(er) car. It was just time.<br />
<br />
Y'all know all these changes have given me an idea for my next tattoo, right? And I want it in an area that could be visible all year round, depending on the type of shirt I am wearing. Yes, that shall be the move in 2017, the year I turn 35.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">THIRTY-FIVE!!!</span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>HOLY SCHITT!!!!</b></span><br />
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K to the...<br />
<br />K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-19916084955673485302016-09-13T10:00:00.000-05:002016-09-13T10:00:11.488-05:00That time I got "friend-zoned"...<div dir="ltr">
...by my goddaughter, G-Baby #1, London Danielle. </div>
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Here's a quick story about being persistent and consistent.</div>
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In January 2015, my bff and her family came back to The States for good. London was 5 months at the time. Between wanting to hang my bff, and wanting my g-baby to know me, I started visiting them on a weekly basis. </div>
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The first day I saw them after their return, we took a trip to Babies R Us. London and I had a stare-down in the store. Right then I knew, it would take a while for her to get used to me. I never forced her to try to like me. I would go for a hi-5 and she would just stare. I'd say "OK" and keep it moving. LOL Babies can be selective with who they can stand to be around, just like adults. Kids are people too. So, I respected her space. </div>
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However, slowly but surely, the stare-down period at the beginning of each visit began to get shorter and shorter until it no longer existed. She started warming up to me. She finally gave me a hi-5. Then we started doing our little handshake, with a couple of twists SHE added to the end of it. Then she started hugging me when I would come thru the door if I asked for one. Then the "Danielle selfies" on my phone started to add up.</div>
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"Cheesy face!"</div>
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"Silly face!"</div>
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"Serious face!"</div>
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Then she hugged me as I was about to leave one day, wouldn't let me go, so I stayed for a few more HOURS. Then she started drinking out of MY water bottle. Then I had make sure to wear comfortable clothes when I'd go visit because I knew she'd have me on the floor playing with her toys (The blocks and turntable are my fave. What? Don't judge.). Then she learned how to say my name ("Keya!"). Then we took a trip to Party City, to get bubbles and listen to Beyonce's "Freedom." Our first solo outing.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And now she has her mom to call me while I'm at work. And she lets me know when she "go pee pee in the potty."</div>
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<br /></div>
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Yesterday, I told her mom that I was content with her never liking me. I thought she'd never warm up to me. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Look at us now! I climbed out the "friend-zone" and became family.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Her little brother, though? At 4 months, he has already warmed up to me. Only a matter of time before London and I teach him how to "bust shots" like we're on stage with Rihanna while she performs "Work."</div>
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<br /></div>
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If London knows how to do it (which, according to her mom, is my fault *clutches pearls*), Landon must know, as well.<br />
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BLOP!!! BLOP!!! BLOP!!!</div>
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K to the...</div>
K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-28100087471920491032016-09-07T10:00:00.000-05:002016-09-07T10:00:18.568-05:00Bifcake Chronicles: Hustlin backwards<div dir="ltr">
After almost 3 months of being superficial and 1 date, I decided to delete my tinder account. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU4u5wEDPQ60T4ePZYlAjLXl9CEABKwhXuv1-mVJw7vGunkQ9Edw57-h01cnxSiDdFkzq_PqdGm0fPrSLVrBWToY4Tz7iHjjw7xQR9IHk_KlgVdEPIXT_ZuTUPH6A0e_Otf3BW0yJnMaA/s1600/DeleteDeleteDelete.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU4u5wEDPQ60T4ePZYlAjLXl9CEABKwhXuv1-mVJw7vGunkQ9Edw57-h01cnxSiDdFkzq_PqdGm0fPrSLVrBWToY4Tz7iHjjw7xQR9IHk_KlgVdEPIXT_ZuTUPH6A0e_Otf3BW0yJnMaA/s1600/DeleteDeleteDelete.gif" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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And we are in what is known as "cuffing season."</div>
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Ya girl is outcheah hustling backwards like a maug. </div>
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I've learned from Tinder that to be "successful" with online dating, you have to really commit to it. Commit to finding possible matches. Commit to checking to see if you've matched with anyone. Then, commit to maintaining communication with your matches to see if they are worth your time.</div>
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After a week of that type of commitment, I'm over it. Then, the app sits dormant for about 3 weeks before I go "Oh...I'm not doing anything right now. Let me swipe."</div>
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Nah.</div>
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I've also learned there are way more "self-employed," "world-traveling" men out there in their 30s and 40s that have been schooled in "the streetz" than I may have originally thought. o_O</div>
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Thanks for the side-eye practice and giggles, Tinder.</div>
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K to the...</div>
K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-68202943121797277232016-07-14T10:00:00.000-05:002016-07-14T10:00:12.200-05:00How 'Bout We Don't<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">To say that I have been enjoying the beautiful weather we’ve had
since Memorial Day would be an understatement. I’m hashtag outcheah, having as
much fun as possible. Because I’m hashtag outcheah more than usual, I’ve seen a
lot of familiar faces. At a concert in May, and a party this past Saturday, I saw
familiar faces I hadn’t seen in years. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Who? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Female friends of an ex. And both instances occurred at
the restroom.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The first time, I was washing my hands, and someone next to me
goes “You’re [redacted’s] ex-girlfriend.” My homie was with me and she was
ready to stroll up like Bey and her whoadies as I slowly turned my head to see
who was speaking to me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The second time, I was waiting in line at the restroom, “seal
broken,” and someone goes “I know you from somewhere. Don’t do me like this. I’m
drunk. But I know you.” I’m slightly tickled, slowly turned her towards me so I
could see her face (She was outta there!) and was like “What is your name?” She
says it, and I go “You’re [redacted’s] best friend.” I give the church hug and
continue to wait. There is banter with a drunk guy going into the men’s room
THAT NEVER HAS A LINE, then she goes “So, how’s life?" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia";">See, this what we don't have to do. First of all, it's unnecessary. And B of all, she doesn't really care. I know
she was rooting for her friend to get with someone else before her friend
and I were over. I kept it short with “Life is good,” and continued to wait for
the next available toilet. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia";">This is the only ex I have whose female friends have come at me awkward. I don't get it. I </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">don’t recall ever going up to exes of my male friends and
saying anything to them! Not even when the liquor's in the system. It’s tacky, and unnecessary. The
most I’ve <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">probably</i> done is tell a
friend that I saw their ex. Other than that, I keep it moving. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> I really have to stay away from public restrooms.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia";">K to the...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia";"></span> </div>
K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-80655327598030077482016-07-05T10:00:00.000-05:002016-07-05T10:00:00.180-05:00Bifcake Chronicles: TinderoniAfter obtaining proof from my ship that it’s not just a hook-up site, I joined Tinder last month. My profile has about 5 pics, and a very simple description:<br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i><b>“If you don’t acknowledge Pluto as a planet or looking for a FWB, keep it movin.”</b></i><br />
<br />
Trill.<br />
<br />
What’s cool about about Tinder is I am looking at profiles of men of all ethnicities who are within the age range of interest, and the radius I’ve chosen. I have come across some interesting profiles:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><span style="color: #e69138;">Man looking for a sugar baby</span> – <i>We actually “matched” but I didn’t want to give up my cookies too. I have standards. *giggles*</i></li>
<li><span style="color: #e69138;">Married couples looking for a woman to spice things up</span> – <i>Nah</i></li>
<li><span style="color: #e69138;">Married men who are looking to just hook up</span> – <i>At least they’re honest</i></li>
<li><span style="color: #e69138;">Men in their 30s & 40s with no kids, never been married, and currently single</span> – <i>I call these men “Unicorns.” </i></li>
<li><span style="color: #e69138;">Guys I know from high school or from hooping</span> – <i>I wanna match with them just so I can send a message saying “What the hell are you doing on here?” I just keep swiping.</i></li>
</ul>
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There have been two Unicorns that I have been texting on the regular. One I went on a brunch date with this past weekend. He is much cuter in his pics. However, he had me cracking up at brunch. My face was hurting by the time we were leaving. We shall see how that goes.<br />
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The other unicorn seemed cool, based on text messages and his profile…until a phone conversation we had yesterday. I have a thing about outsiders coming in my city, residing here, then dissing it as if the entire city of Chicago, including all its citizens, ain’t shit. And that is basically what he was doing during the convo. He apologized after I told him he talks as if Chicago is beneath him. We're supposed to meet up on Friday after work for drinks. Ugh. That miiiiight be postponed.<br />
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AND...his "jokes" were lame. As someone who loves a good corny joke, for me to consider your jokes lame means you’re just…shut up!<br />
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Dating can be exhausting, yet fun at the same time. I joined Tinder to meet guys outside of my social circle. Kudos to me for keeping it going.<br />
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K to the...<br />
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K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-71001427740973343402016-05-17T10:00:00.000-05:002016-05-17T10:00:15.590-05:00Basketball Chronicles: It's Still There<div dir="ltr">
Back in February, I had drafted a blogpost about how I felt my love for basketball was dwindling. Basketball used to be my refuge from everything. When I was on the court, nothing else mattered. If I couldn't sleep, I would go put up some shots (Oh how I've missed going to a gym opened 24 hours).</div>
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It came to point where I was playing solely for cardio; like it was an assignment or something. I was playing with grown ass males who acted like children. I wrote about some of the ish I went through on this blog, but there was a lot of ish I didn't write about. You'd think after 4 years of playing with the same males every week, I wouldn't have to deal with them coming at me sideways every week solely because I am a woman.</div>
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So, I started running more. And it seemed running was going to replace basketball as my refuge...until I joined a another gym after moving back to the city. It wasn't that I didn't like playing basketball anymore...I just needed a change of scenery.</div>
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I am running the Divine Nine 5K in June, then I will begin training in August for the Hot Chocolate 15K. </div>
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15K. </div>
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9.3 miles.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">WHAT AM I DOING!?!?!</span></b></div>
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After I conquer the 15K, there will be no reason for me to continue running. I have no aspirations to do a half or full marathon. Distance running is cool, but I have come to the conclusion that I really don't like it. I love basketball way more than running.</div>
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I am slowly but surely getting back to my refuge. I haven't stepped on the court in 3 weeks. That's 3 weeks too long.</div>
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That's how I know the love is still there.</div>
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K to the...</div>
K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1961575591922859399.post-79887908978207008192016-04-20T10:00:00.000-05:002016-04-20T10:00:23.458-05:00Bifcake Chronicles: Just...no<div dir="ltr">
Seeing a "filtered message" in your Facebook inbox saying "I love you" from an ex who is currently married is not flattering. And it's disrespectful to his wife. I wish I had seen the message when it was sent 4 months ago so I could have hit him with the "Nigga please, if you don't get the fuh..."<br />
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<i>*I really miss when only people with whom I'm Facebook friends could send me messages.*</i></div>
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I don't read daily horoscopes. However, I'm a firm believer in our <a href="http://smile.amazon.com/Secret-Language-Birthdays-Gary-Goldschneider/dp/0525426884/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1461159659&sr=8-3&keywords=birthday+book">astrological signs</a> saying a lot about who we are as individuals, and with whom we are romantically compatible. The disrespectful nincompoop was born under one of the signs with whom I am NOT compatible.<br />
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Pisces.<br />
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So, to the men that were born under Pisces and Virgo (another incompatible sign), this Sagittarian has only one thing to say to you:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyx54UyVJu9EdniCKJH_LeiBBLhCVUoAqIRf-ESQYmMx16WoaNUBgEqJoTxPLw27kITlsvmqoJT98ar2j5FHFbfLz8cxAbnqzmqtKFXfMVgwbCj1SuPx6-tCVHSoQkw5CJOrtD2aTBphE/s1600/NO%2521+Meme+Face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyx54UyVJu9EdniCKJH_LeiBBLhCVUoAqIRf-ESQYmMx16WoaNUBgEqJoTxPLw27kITlsvmqoJT98ar2j5FHFbfLz8cxAbnqzmqtKFXfMVgwbCj1SuPx6-tCVHSoQkw5CJOrtD2aTBphE/s320/NO%2521+Meme+Face.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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K to the...<br />
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P.S. My last three relationships were with guys under Pisces or Virgo. No mas! No mas!</div>
K to the...http://www.blogger.com/profile/15897234026542965578noreply@blogger.com0