Do you patronize businesses within your family? Fact is, most people work, have a career, or own a business of some type which means there are people in your VERY OWN family that could provide a product/service for you...why or why don't you use family first?
LET'S FLIP IT. Say you are the business owner of a product/service or have a particular job that can be utilized by family members. What are your thoughts and experiences on family support and patronage-or lack thereof?
Let's Talk...all comments are welcomed and respected.
Wednesday, April 25, 2012
Whoever invented hot wings is a sheer GENIUS!!
Whoever invented hot wings is a sheer GENIUS!! I mean just take a minute and think about the simplicity of this urban delight...fried chicken wings, butter, and hot sauce.Period Point Blank.Now no doubt there are all types of variations but that's the basic recipe.I KNOW this person had to be black and shall I say of the working class.It's when you're broke and hungry that you create some of the BEST recipes.You start making 'erthing from scratch.Homemade fries, homemade hamburgers, homemade biscuits, and cornbread, soup with roman noodles that last 2 and 3 days wth!!
Your friends and co-workers are all like where did you get this recipe it's FABULOUS!
You think back to when you forgot to check-in with your caseworker and your EBT aka food stamp was cut off. Dam what we gone do...
What I really really want to know is why in the hell didn't someone tell me ALL my hair would eventually turn gray.EEwl that's RATCHED! You meant to tell me from the rooter to the tooter we going white?
This has not been the joy to my wonderful world of 30s. So what is a girl to do make zebra stripes, or oh I know, do the lil white patch on the side like the anchormen on the news, better yet just rock you a salt n pepper shawty. At the end of the day your dude is not checking for the white girls downstairs. I promise.
While we're on the subject of hoky-poky...have you ever noticed that there's approximately a 48 hour window between each sexual encounter for the 'average' married guy.I'm clueless about the singles. Could be every 2hours for all I know. One thing is for sure, married men, your husband, my husband to be exact will lose his MUTHA-DUCKLING mind if he can't get some hello kitty every other day.So needless to say the dude is bonafide crazy some weeks.LMAO I'm like lawd have mercy this here is crazy.You can't remember anything, you can't hear, you strong like a dam bull, you exercising like you signed up for the 2013 Olympics, you definitely in the shower waaaay too long using up all the hot water.I bet there is statistically data supporting this theory.All I can say is if you want to have some peace, a lil extra cooperation, and not have that poke in your back/butt...remember the 48hour RULE.
Speaking of rules, here are a few rules people need to use when using the public transit system. First and foremost, have your card/bus pass, dollar bills, your child's birthday piggy bank coins (minus the pennies) READY when you step up on that bus! We don't have time for you to try to dig all around in your baby diaper bag or your fake designer bag tryna scrape up one more quarter. Miss lady you making me late!Next, how in the hell do you have ANY hearing with your ipod turned up to THIS 'ISH WAAY TOO LOUD THOUGHT I WAS NEXT TO THE SPEAKER AT THE STRIP CLUB level.lol Out of control and very much disturbing my zen morning mood. Okay mamas I get it, it's tough catching the bus/train especially with kids. Right? We get it, but what I don't get is why you so mad?You hollering at the kids at 630/7am like it was THEIR idea to catch the bus. You mugging them like they were the ones that didn't make that dude STRAP UP on round 2.
One last thing about riding the bus/train.DO NOT and I mean DO NOT make eye contact with strangers that by definition means no one on the bus and/or train for the entire ride.You better look out the window, on the floor, at the wall, at that whack TV system that tells you you ain't shit in life so you better go to Everest or somewhere and learn how to draw other people's blood...my favorite thing to do is fake read.I will stare at one page from the Airport to Lenox.WHO?!! If you slightly break this rule please be prepared to have longer than life itself convo with a crazy person fresh from the shelter, stinky breath Bob, don't I know you from somewhere Kevin, I'm new to the city Charles, Miss Majic City bound Melissa that somehow danced all night and had no way back to her Econo Lodge room...that 'ish cray!!
Your friends and co-workers are all like where did you get this recipe it's FABULOUS!
You think back to when you forgot to check-in with your caseworker and your EBT aka food stamp was cut off. Dam what we gone do...
What I really really want to know is why in the hell didn't someone tell me ALL my hair would eventually turn gray.EEwl that's RATCHED! You meant to tell me from the rooter to the tooter we going white?
This has not been the joy to my wonderful world of 30s. So what is a girl to do make zebra stripes, or oh I know, do the lil white patch on the side like the anchormen on the news, better yet just rock you a salt n pepper shawty. At the end of the day your dude is not checking for the white girls downstairs. I promise.
While we're on the subject of hoky-poky...have you ever noticed that there's approximately a 48 hour window between each sexual encounter for the 'average' married guy.I'm clueless about the singles. Could be every 2hours for all I know. One thing is for sure, married men, your husband, my husband to be exact will lose his MUTHA-DUCKLING mind if he can't get some hello kitty every other day.So needless to say the dude is bonafide crazy some weeks.LMAO I'm like lawd have mercy this here is crazy.You can't remember anything, you can't hear, you strong like a dam bull, you exercising like you signed up for the 2013 Olympics, you definitely in the shower waaaay too long using up all the hot water.I bet there is statistically data supporting this theory.All I can say is if you want to have some peace, a lil extra cooperation, and not have that poke in your back/butt...remember the 48hour RULE.
Speaking of rules, here are a few rules people need to use when using the public transit system. First and foremost, have your card/bus pass, dollar bills, your child's birthday piggy bank coins (minus the pennies) READY when you step up on that bus! We don't have time for you to try to dig all around in your baby diaper bag or your fake designer bag tryna scrape up one more quarter. Miss lady you making me late!Next, how in the hell do you have ANY hearing with your ipod turned up to THIS 'ISH WAAY TOO LOUD THOUGHT I WAS NEXT TO THE SPEAKER AT THE STRIP CLUB level.lol Out of control and very much disturbing my zen morning mood. Okay mamas I get it, it's tough catching the bus/train especially with kids. Right? We get it, but what I don't get is why you so mad?You hollering at the kids at 630/7am like it was THEIR idea to catch the bus. You mugging them like they were the ones that didn't make that dude STRAP UP on round 2.
One last thing about riding the bus/train.DO NOT and I mean DO NOT make eye contact with strangers that by definition means no one on the bus and/or train for the entire ride.You better look out the window, on the floor, at the wall, at that whack TV system that tells you you ain't shit in life so you better go to Everest or somewhere and learn how to draw other people's blood...my favorite thing to do is fake read.I will stare at one page from the Airport to Lenox.WHO?!! If you slightly break this rule please be prepared to have longer than life itself convo with a crazy person fresh from the shelter, stinky breath Bob, don't I know you from somewhere Kevin, I'm new to the city Charles, Miss Majic City bound Melissa that somehow danced all night and had no way back to her Econo Lodge room...that 'ish cray!!
Hair Weave the New Luxury Item
Is hair weave becoming a status symbol? Running neck in neck with Rolex watches, designer handbags/totes, luxury vehicles, vacation homes. An item to illustrate our perceived level of success and wealth? An item to speak for us, telling the world I have so much disposable income that I can afford to buy HAIR at prices that seem to increase with its insatiable demand.
No doubt hair extensions come in all qualities, colors, lengths, and ergo prices, but there is a huge growing market for ultra 'premium Indian virgin' human hair. No this is not exclusive to the African American race.
As a matter of fact on any given day in high end salons across the nation one can find women of all creeds and color buying HAIR.Other people's hair as if we do not grow our own.
No soap box here because I am the first in line 'er two weeks ordering my tried and true 1B/30 12" and 14" of human hair to match my own...depending on my budget,upcoming functions, and itinerary.
The question remains is this hair, this premium HAIR upwards of $100+ per pack or roll or weft or whatever the seller/stylist calls it, the new BMW for women?
We love this 'ish!! Addicted to it!! We invest in it!! It's priority is close neighbors with a mortgage, rent, car note, and childcare payments. It MUST be paid because we GOTTA have it!! The more exotic the better! The more expensive the better! The longer the better! The wavier the better! The straighter the better!
It says hey look at me, I'm high end, even my hair upkeep cost more than a person's annual salary.
Dayuuum that's pretty serious.
We wear this hair like a mink fur or a pair of red bottom heels. Flicking it out of our eye, pulling it behind our ears, oh and let's not forget the two hand sweep from the face move when you're flaunting a middle part.
Why must so much money be paid for HAIR...when we have our own??
Is this yet another way of separating the haves and the have nots? A way to add yet another accessory, thing, item, add-on to who we are...I'm just asking.
Or is this just plain old economics at its best? A best practices for the businessmen/women making a fortune in this growing industry. Is this a cost/value conversation? Whereby due to the hair's high value the cost is sure to match...I'm just asking.
As I raise my 6 year old daughter I truly don't want to have to consider her HAIR costs right along with financing her education.Somethings are the way they are because we literally 'buy' into them.
No doubt hair extensions come in all qualities, colors, lengths, and ergo prices, but there is a huge growing market for ultra 'premium Indian virgin' human hair. No this is not exclusive to the African American race.
As a matter of fact on any given day in high end salons across the nation one can find women of all creeds and color buying HAIR.Other people's hair as if we do not grow our own.
No soap box here because I am the first in line 'er two weeks ordering my tried and true 1B/30 12" and 14" of human hair to match my own...depending on my budget,upcoming functions, and itinerary.
The question remains is this hair, this premium HAIR upwards of $100+ per pack or roll or weft or whatever the seller/stylist calls it, the new BMW for women?
We love this 'ish!! Addicted to it!! We invest in it!! It's priority is close neighbors with a mortgage, rent, car note, and childcare payments. It MUST be paid because we GOTTA have it!! The more exotic the better! The more expensive the better! The longer the better! The wavier the better! The straighter the better!
It says hey look at me, I'm high end, even my hair upkeep cost more than a person's annual salary.
Dayuuum that's pretty serious.
We wear this hair like a mink fur or a pair of red bottom heels. Flicking it out of our eye, pulling it behind our ears, oh and let's not forget the two hand sweep from the face move when you're flaunting a middle part.
Why must so much money be paid for HAIR...when we have our own??
Is this yet another way of separating the haves and the have nots? A way to add yet another accessory, thing, item, add-on to who we are...I'm just asking.
Or is this just plain old economics at its best? A best practices for the businessmen/women making a fortune in this growing industry. Is this a cost/value conversation? Whereby due to the hair's high value the cost is sure to match...I'm just asking.
As I raise my 6 year old daughter I truly don't want to have to consider her HAIR costs right along with financing her education.Somethings are the way they are because we literally 'buy' into them.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
Miss Sparkle
Wind chapping the face, can't quite seem to keep the hair from blowing blocking her vision.
A traffic-filled scene of taxis, cars, students, and business-men hurriedly escaping as they participate in the routine of life. Horns honking, bus shuffling women and children from here to there, homeless man making his way to his evenings resting place.She walks amid the noise of life reminiscent of a song from the 1976 movie Sparkle..."Giving Up".
Smoked filled club, a few familiar faces, used-to-be's and wanna-be's comprise the almost invisible audience. Sis belts a heart wrenching solo about missing and longing for her man.Finally realizing and knowing the end was near so near. She stretches her now coked and liquored voice. Pulling from her tiny loin to pour everything she had left-which wasn't much-into this song. Sick, pained, and defeated by having to give up, release, let go of her destroyer, her private hurt, and public pain, the only thing she had left to call her own, aka HER MAN.
The knight in shining armor, the king, the boss that beat and kicked her,sportingly boxed her gorgeous face without mercy, spit on her, isolated her from all that truly loved her, and ultimately made her feel less than a nasty stepped on piece of gum stuck on the bottom of your shoe.
Yet locked in her heart and perhaps a corner of her mind were vivid colorful memories of feeling like the luckiest chick alive. An urban queen. Fine hour-glassed shaped body, innocent supermodel face, soft silky hair down to the dimples in her back, dressed in strictly off the runway or couture definitely no department store trimmings for her, luxury car and pad-the absolute envy of all, provided with ease from HER MAN.
Sis' reality was also Sis' fantasy.No one, and I mean no one, envied her. Instead they pitied her. They saw her present state and they too vividly and colorfully remembered her original untampered beauty, grace, laughter, happiness.No cocaine laced joints, no lines, eight balls, no light/dark expensive/cheap liquor covered breath.Just a young sassy wide-eyed girl looking to find her way in the world.
An urban queen. Shaking their heads in defeat to her ignorant one woman show of REBELLION-
SELF DESTRUCTION-and LOSS OF SELF.
Yes oh yes my spirit sings, moans, silently cries- one tear falls to the cheek..."giving up is so hard to do..." but I must because the fog and clouds are blocking my sun rays.Starving my nourishment.
Pick-pocketing my joy, peace, and goals. You say you want to build me up, yet the blueprint does not match the desired goal. I don't have to participate. I can simply stop. Walk-away no look backs.
No hellos.Knowing all too well how this type of story goes...
A traffic-filled scene of taxis, cars, students, and business-men hurriedly escaping as they participate in the routine of life. Horns honking, bus shuffling women and children from here to there, homeless man making his way to his evenings resting place.She walks amid the noise of life reminiscent of a song from the 1976 movie Sparkle..."Giving Up".
Smoked filled club, a few familiar faces, used-to-be's and wanna-be's comprise the almost invisible audience. Sis belts a heart wrenching solo about missing and longing for her man.Finally realizing and knowing the end was near so near. She stretches her now coked and liquored voice. Pulling from her tiny loin to pour everything she had left-which wasn't much-into this song. Sick, pained, and defeated by having to give up, release, let go of her destroyer, her private hurt, and public pain, the only thing she had left to call her own, aka HER MAN.
The knight in shining armor, the king, the boss that beat and kicked her,sportingly boxed her gorgeous face without mercy, spit on her, isolated her from all that truly loved her, and ultimately made her feel less than a nasty stepped on piece of gum stuck on the bottom of your shoe.
Yet locked in her heart and perhaps a corner of her mind were vivid colorful memories of feeling like the luckiest chick alive. An urban queen. Fine hour-glassed shaped body, innocent supermodel face, soft silky hair down to the dimples in her back, dressed in strictly off the runway or couture definitely no department store trimmings for her, luxury car and pad-the absolute envy of all, provided with ease from HER MAN.
Sis' reality was also Sis' fantasy.No one, and I mean no one, envied her. Instead they pitied her. They saw her present state and they too vividly and colorfully remembered her original untampered beauty, grace, laughter, happiness.No cocaine laced joints, no lines, eight balls, no light/dark expensive/cheap liquor covered breath.Just a young sassy wide-eyed girl looking to find her way in the world.
An urban queen. Shaking their heads in defeat to her ignorant one woman show of REBELLION-
SELF DESTRUCTION-and LOSS OF SELF.
Yes oh yes my spirit sings, moans, silently cries- one tear falls to the cheek..."giving up is so hard to do..." but I must because the fog and clouds are blocking my sun rays.Starving my nourishment.
Pick-pocketing my joy, peace, and goals. You say you want to build me up, yet the blueprint does not match the desired goal. I don't have to participate. I can simply stop. Walk-away no look backs.
No hellos.Knowing all too well how this type of story goes...
Sunday, April 22, 2012
What are you worth?
Do you know your value before someone else places it on you?
In order to answer that question one may perhaps need to ask what makes oneself valuable?
Is value somehow given by birth through bone structure, complexion, height, genetics?
Rather, is value earned from good deeds, hard work, kindness, and following all TEN of the commandments in private/public?
Are you deemed valuable and virtuous because someone asked you to marry them and you said "yes"?
Or perhaps is it the sheer number of heads you can turn, number you can get, friend requests you receive on any given day? Oh that must surely mean value...or does it?
You see I am still asking these very questions because many of these themes were my very own litmus test in measuring and attempting to illustrate MY value.
Yet, it has been NONE of these themes that honestly defineed value.
Value isn't a lifetime appointment handed to you from someone else (parents, children, opposite sex, friends, colleagues). It isn't something you have to earn nor can you earn.
Slaves worked to accumulate value for their owners, but WE are not slaves and we have no owners.
Value is a birthright.We each come into this world with it.
No matter your last name or first, no matter your lineage, neighborhood, physical build, or mental capacity.You still have value.
However, value is diminished when it's carelessly handed over to someone else to determine or define it for you. Using themes of love, acts of love, material items,and a laundry list of physical make-ups to place/rank/order ones value.Wow!
Your value can never be quatifiably measured.
I would even venture to state that one person's value can not exceed another.
In order to answer that question one may perhaps need to ask what makes oneself valuable?
Is value somehow given by birth through bone structure, complexion, height, genetics?
Rather, is value earned from good deeds, hard work, kindness, and following all TEN of the commandments in private/public?
Are you deemed valuable and virtuous because someone asked you to marry them and you said "yes"?
Or perhaps is it the sheer number of heads you can turn, number you can get, friend requests you receive on any given day? Oh that must surely mean value...or does it?
You see I am still asking these very questions because many of these themes were my very own litmus test in measuring and attempting to illustrate MY value.
Yet, it has been NONE of these themes that honestly defineed value.
Value isn't a lifetime appointment handed to you from someone else (parents, children, opposite sex, friends, colleagues). It isn't something you have to earn nor can you earn.
Slaves worked to accumulate value for their owners, but WE are not slaves and we have no owners.
Value is a birthright.We each come into this world with it.
No matter your last name or first, no matter your lineage, neighborhood, physical build, or mental capacity.You still have value.
However, value is diminished when it's carelessly handed over to someone else to determine or define it for you. Using themes of love, acts of love, material items,and a laundry list of physical make-ups to place/rank/order ones value.Wow!
Your value can never be quatifiably measured.
I would even venture to state that one person's value can not exceed another.
Virgin Blogger
Once you hit age 35 there's not too many things that you can still claim as a 'virginal' experience...
At last, I am entering the world of blogging to give my 'shaken not stirred' insight on a wide-range of topics that I deem important, viable, ridiculous, and just funny as hell.
After overcoming a 72 hour bout of anger with Mr.Tillery. I resigned to the fact that we love each other no matter who is sleeping on the couch, wasting gas driving around I-285, facebooking people out of pure boredom, or wearing down Adidas' running all around the neighborhood.
These actions raised my 'utter ridiculousness' antennae and I began to ponder on all of the pretty ridiculous yet well intended things that married couples do in general.
For instance, who really wants to go on a date with another married couple to talk at length about...oh let me guess...the kids, the dog,cat,turtle, old grandma with the bad knee hospital bills, and lack of sex or proper sex.Oh let us not forget the fact that everyone HATES their job and so we listen hour upon hour and drink upon drink about 'the man holding a brutha down', the system, being misunderstood, and why the hell our parents saved and prayed for us to get an education just to end up in this whack-o-liscious cubicle 50hours a week.
Next is the so-called and much anticipated couple DATE NIGHT.Yeah baby its going down!
Get your lingerie and smell goods ready because it's going to be me and you-boo.NOT!
These overly or under planned dates, depending on who you share tax obligations with, almost always include some type of argument.Either its the pressure of getting a sitter, the choice of restaurant/movie/activity, the driving route, the driving speed, your spouse's VIBE...the madness goes on and on.smh.You reach your destination exhausted from spending half an hour trying to trim or shave that dam near Jackson-5 afro from between your legs AND look for your 'sexy' panties, then having to drop off the crumb snatchers across town, and finally setting the gps so that you don't end up yelling over the computer lady's voice debating the route (which you end up doing anyways).So now what? Oh now you're on your date.Ain't talkn bout 'ish.Somebody should have brought a book or dvd player or something.ijs.Date over.Home you go, but not before you pay that tab boo!
Oh yes ma'am it's called booty-duty time.
OMG How could I not mention my all time favorite thing that married people do
(or maybe its just The Tillery's)...text arguments.Yes yes yes Hercules Hercules!
It goes DOWN on a text argument! It's the best because no one but you and your spouse knows what's going on.Unless you're so pissed that your hand is shaking.In that case they have professionals for that.
Text arguing is down right crazy! You add feeling and tone to the text. Nevermind the fact that your spouse didn't mean it like that, or was not saying/implying/ leading to that particular point. Nevermind the fact that you have METRO PCS therefore receiving messages in no particular order and/or delayed.
You go ALL caps in total disrespect.Giving one word replies to a 4-5series of messaging.LOL! Sarcastically fowarding the previous message as to say nicca WHAT??!! The sheer beauty of this ignorance is that you A.have ZERO damage control w/kids for all they know you're playing Words With Friends B.it's all documented just in case someone wants to get selective memory or act like they wanna get 'representation' C.you eventually get tired and find something else to do like have an angry make-up love-making session or even better eat freshly cooked brownies & ice cream in bed.
Aaaaah the joys of marriage...GOTTA LOVE IT!
At last, I am entering the world of blogging to give my 'shaken not stirred' insight on a wide-range of topics that I deem important, viable, ridiculous, and just funny as hell.
After overcoming a 72 hour bout of anger with Mr.Tillery. I resigned to the fact that we love each other no matter who is sleeping on the couch, wasting gas driving around I-285, facebooking people out of pure boredom, or wearing down Adidas' running all around the neighborhood.
These actions raised my 'utter ridiculousness' antennae and I began to ponder on all of the pretty ridiculous yet well intended things that married couples do in general.
For instance, who really wants to go on a date with another married couple to talk at length about...oh let me guess...the kids, the dog,cat,turtle, old grandma with the bad knee hospital bills, and lack of sex or proper sex.Oh let us not forget the fact that everyone HATES their job and so we listen hour upon hour and drink upon drink about 'the man holding a brutha down', the system, being misunderstood, and why the hell our parents saved and prayed for us to get an education just to end up in this whack-o-liscious cubicle 50hours a week.
Next is the so-called and much anticipated couple DATE NIGHT.Yeah baby its going down!
Get your lingerie and smell goods ready because it's going to be me and you-boo.NOT!
These overly or under planned dates, depending on who you share tax obligations with, almost always include some type of argument.Either its the pressure of getting a sitter, the choice of restaurant/movie/activity, the driving route, the driving speed, your spouse's VIBE...the madness goes on and on.smh.You reach your destination exhausted from spending half an hour trying to trim or shave that dam near Jackson-5 afro from between your legs AND look for your 'sexy' panties, then having to drop off the crumb snatchers across town, and finally setting the gps so that you don't end up yelling over the computer lady's voice debating the route (which you end up doing anyways).So now what? Oh now you're on your date.Ain't talkn bout 'ish.Somebody should have brought a book or dvd player or something.ijs.Date over.Home you go, but not before you pay that tab boo!
Oh yes ma'am it's called booty-duty time.
OMG How could I not mention my all time favorite thing that married people do
(or maybe its just The Tillery's)...text arguments.Yes yes yes Hercules Hercules!
It goes DOWN on a text argument! It's the best because no one but you and your spouse knows what's going on.Unless you're so pissed that your hand is shaking.In that case they have professionals for that.
Text arguing is down right crazy! You add feeling and tone to the text. Nevermind the fact that your spouse didn't mean it like that, or was not saying/implying/ leading to that particular point. Nevermind the fact that you have METRO PCS therefore receiving messages in no particular order and/or delayed.
You go ALL caps in total disrespect.Giving one word replies to a 4-5series of messaging.LOL! Sarcastically fowarding the previous message as to say nicca WHAT??!! The sheer beauty of this ignorance is that you A.have ZERO damage control w/kids for all they know you're playing Words With Friends B.it's all documented just in case someone wants to get selective memory or act like they wanna get 'representation' C.you eventually get tired and find something else to do like have an angry make-up love-making session or even better eat freshly cooked brownies & ice cream in bed.
Aaaaah the joys of marriage...GOTTA LOVE IT!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)