it was terrible

it turns out he met them on thursday.
and they do not like him.
it did not help that he blew. my. phone. up. this weekend. my mama says it makes him look clingy. but she also fussed when i was the one doing all the calling. i can't win, apparently.
it did not help that my father missed part of game 7 (LAKERS AWW YEAH *ahem*) to talk to him--if they had lost, heaven help the poor boy, i'd never see him alive again.
it did not help that he is going to devry.
it sure didn't help that he talks over-much when he's nervous.
it was amusing, but unhelpful that his eyes were red, and as soon as he said "man, they're gonna think i smoke," my mama said "why are your eyes red? do you smoke?"
all in all, i don't think this will last long.
:(

oh. so. you're my boyfriend now? thanks for letting me know.

um, am i the only person who never knows anything?

i didn't know my family was going to houston until a few days before they were gone.

i didn't know i was getting a car until i walked outside and saw it. i had my suspicions of course, but i thought they were unfounded.

so discovering that i am dating someone is new to me, but i rolls with the punches.

well, speaking of punches, homie is kinda...rough-ish.

not like hitting me, or anything, 'cause i'd jack him up, but just...not gentle?

but i'm tryna do this the right way (for once) and he will be meeting my mama.

this will end terribly, i just know it.

deren already said she was coming up with a list of questions to ask.

this morning my mama was like:

"is he a baggy-pants wearing dude?"

"slightly, mother."

"hmm. grandma says pull'em up. is he an afro, braid wearing brother?"

"no, mother. his hair is like derek's, a taper fade."

"hmm. does he have gold teeth?"

"NOO, mother."

*here comes deren, busting in the conversation.*

"what about silver?"

"no."

"what about diamond-encrusted?"

"NO."

"...platinum?"

my mother started laughing, and high-fived her, saying that deren asked the hard-hitting questions that she couldn't think of.

she said he has to come to church with us.

meaning allllll the church family is going to see him holding my hand (ol' pda lookin'...) and i will be straight harassed.

"who's thiiiis, deven?"

"nobody...i mean...somebody...man, can you get your sanctified side-hug from me and move along already?"

no good.

anyway, i'm going to six flags on friday! yay! pulling contest will recommence, with the addition of my cousin and deren's friends...and i will be successful.

ayy, i said he was my boyfriend.

i ain't say i was his girlfriend.

:D

shh. i probably won't even do it. dang my guilty conscience.

yeah, yeah, i know.

i said i'd post...like 2 weeks ago.
i had stuff to do. dangit.
today is my last of spanish, thank god.
and then it all begins anew on monday. no rest for the wicked.
but anyway.
i said i'd tell how i got locked out the house. i also have two COUNT 'EM two additional stories featuring my dog as the antagonist.

"Locked Out"
so. the yardman (francisco) was cutting the lawn, and i was supposed to pay him. i woke up, aided by the phone vibrating under my head and the lawnmower right outside my window. my mother, prior to leaving, begged me to do something about my hair so i didn't scare francisco (who is like 65) to death by my heatmeiser bedhead. so i hop in the shower. as i'm getting out and applying lotion, i hear the doorbell. so, i figure, i'm just paying him, i can come back and get fully dressed in a minute. i threw a tank top and some sweats on.

first crucial mistake: i neglected underwear.

so i go to the door, pay him, and he says he has to do the back, so can i get lefty the black lab?
i go out the garage, leave the door cracked because we have a fancy lock with a keypad now, that i did not know the code to. i wrangle the dog, stick him in the garage, and then:

my second crucial mistake: i close the door so lefty can't get in the house.

but now, neither can i.
i go to open the door, and i cannot. the garage is closed and it is sweltering. i am sweating my lotion off, my dog is looking at me crazy while i am crying, punching numbers in and beating on the door like someone will let me in.
inventory: no keys, no phone, no draws, one dog.
great.
so i go to throw myself upon the mercy of my neighbors. i spot another yardman and put my pitiful face on. having procured his phone, i call my mother and father frantically. they will laugh about this later. finally reaching my father and getting the code, i am then cussed out by my neighbor, because i couldn't leave lefty in the garage, the final crucial mistake. he seems to think lefty and fool dog are one and the same. i restrain an impulse to cuss back, make it back to my house, punch in the code, put lefty in the back, and take another shower.

"Flashing Lig--Neighbors"
so, i wake up, or am woken up, rather. it's cleaning time. so i'm looking around the house, and i spot some recycling. so i take it out. mind you, i just woke up. hair looks crazy. i'm wearing a tank top and rolled up boxers. so of course my neighbors is outside mowing his lawn. and my dog has escaped. i wrassle him back in and try to throw the recycling way in a dignified manner, but it's hard to be dignified when your thighs are exposed up the the hip. *deren told me my legs remind her of aliens. isn't she the best? -_- * i go back to my house (i left the door open this time) and leave my pride with the recycling. maybe an hour later, i hear a whuffling noise outside my window. i go to look, real cautious like in case someone's tryna come steal me (or worse, the stereos) and it's lefty.
great.
so i go put him back out, fussing the whole way while he grins at me (dogs can grin. and they often do so salaciously) like "aww, you're just joking with me, you know you LOOOOOVE you some me." so i go to the fence, and someone has moved the stone we use to keep him from escaping.
mind you, the FIRST TIME i put him back, i moved that stone.
i think he knows how to get out. and he's coming for me, because a) i'm the only one at home and b) i'm the only one he can punk.

dang dog.

apuntes para mi cuaderno

i think i'm actually supposed to learn spanish this time, much to my dismay.

but anyway, i retro-blogged (journaled for the non-luddite set) my past few days' experience...let me share some snippets of comedic gold (gold, jerry! gold!):

(5/17/10)

"HE'S SPEAKING SPANISH AT ME OMG."

"I paid $3 to park for this?"

"My $3 smelled of straight ass, lending yet more credibility to my theory that dollar bills in all denominations must be considered, since they were printed, to have been run through a stripper's ass crack at least once."

"I was accosted by a homeless man. I would've offered him my hot tamales, but...I like hot tamales. a lot. I'd get into a big white van if the creepy man inside it was offering me hot tamales."

i'll put my sad sad story of being locked out of my house with no keys, no phone, and no draws on (had my dog though) up later, i gotta go get deren from the salon so she can find bus stop boy and they can fall in love.

six flags con mis hermanitos

a long-standing tradition we have is to hold a pulling contest every time we go to six flags. well, long-standing after we'd rode all the rides a million times and realized the real fun to be had was while waiting in the line near somebody fine.

but anyway, i took derek and deren to six flags for deren's 14th birthday yesterday. she's growing up so fast *tear* i remember being taller than her...once upon a time...

derek won, to my chagrin.

only by two numbers, but still, me and deren had slim pickings. everybody was too old or too young or too unattractive (even in the interest of winning, i still have--some--standards) or too fine which meant they had a girl on they arm.

i'm really starting to resent girls with boyfriends now.

i know now why deren haaaaaaated for me to talk about him...it's annoying AS HECK. every sentence out one's mouth turns into something about their significant other.

plus i was always smiling and laughing and not talking in my regular voice (they made fun of me for dayyyys after they caught me on the phone . like i'm going to talk to somebody i'm sexually attracted to the same way i talk to my brother and sister, who i want to beat more often than not? yeah, right. y'all need to gon' on some place and leave me alone) and not my usual pessimistic scowling self.

but i'ma ask someone out today. i think he digs me (who wouldn't? *conceited*), but i don't want to be rejected. but worse thing he can say is no, right? and if i ask him out, 'cause i had nothing else to do, and he says no, my plans haven't changed. so yeah, i'ma do it.

six flags was fun, anyway. me and deren rode on batman, and all of us rode the log ride--they made me ride in front and my jeans got wet--and the antique cars--deren drove--and conquistador--derek and deren went again while i drank my milkshake, which brought all the bees to my bench and they were like "gimme some of that milkshake or we'll sting you" and i was like "AWW HECK NAW" and moved. they wouldn't let me ride the sombrero or the tea cups though, and i refused to stand in line for anything really big, like titan or superman.

derek won me and deren frogs (i wanted the rasta banana soooooo bad), bought himself another airbrushed hat, and managed to win a freaking guitar. and now the vato is going to be trying to learn to play the damned thing all this summer so he can sing love ballads to the mexican girls ("quiero a tiiiiiiii, mi amor...volverrrrrrrrr..."). lucky me. if he irritates me, on god and everything, i'll cut those strings. wait. will it cut me if it's a steel string?

i took like 40 pictures, which i will try to upload on facebook (the one up there is the only one i could get to work on deren's sloooooooower-than-molasses-laptop, i'll try later.) i also made deren take my picture with scooby and scrappy (scooby molested my face and took my glasses off. he also patted my head. o.O), the green lantern (who needs to get a codpiece or sum'n, 'cause he was NOT impressive), and mr. six. deren took pictures with the joker, and then lex luthor popped up from nowhere behind me and scared me very badly.

and then i dropped deren off at studio movie grill so she could see just wright without me (-_-) with our grandmother. *big mouth bass is in the pond, over.*

and came home. *salmon is swimming back upstream, do you copy?*

what i want...

for him to love my hair and to play with my curls while they're wet.
for him to not mind my terrible singing and to appreciate my serenades.
for him to get things i can't reach off high shelves for me without calling me shorty.
to be his wifey.
to be called late at night so we could talk about everything even though we both were tired.
i want him to understand my sarcasm.
i want him to listen to my babble.
to cook for him.
to edit his papers and get rewarded with a kiss.
to have him read mine and critique them for me.
to go on long walks with no particular purpose in mind.
to have his hoodies that smell like his cologne.

to stop being a dang simp. smh.
my bad, y'all.

homie and bob marley

so we have mad boys who live on my street.
if not for my love of college-aged men, almost all of them could get it, reaaaal talk.
they all dark chocolate skinned and they all fine.
but they also are all ghetto as all get out.
and if you know me, i do not do ghetto well.
i've tried, i really have.
but my ignorance level only goes so high.
i can only speak ebonics for so long before my brain starts to hurt.
plus my mother is starting to issue demerits for slang.
and i have no money, yo.
*demerit*
i am impecunious at this current point in time.
but anyway, the two main ones are...well, i don't know their names.
me and deren named them homie ('cause he looks like a homie) and his friend is bob marley. he used to have twists, but he cut them off, but the name's stuck now.
so they stare me down every time they see me. maybe because when i first got a car (RIP MR. CAR!) i was kinda not seriously hypothetically tryna run them down...they shoulda got out the street, shoot. always wanna play the game craze that's sweeping the nation: throw the ball across the street at each other. i don't see the appeal.
when you see a civic and a be-afro'd driver coming down the road, MOVE. GET OUT THE WAY.
as deren has said, i am crazy and i will hit a kid. and not look back to see what i hit. just drive away like "was that a bump? huh."
but i finally talked to homie the other day. i wish deren had been there, 'cause we had money that they didn't know how to talk.
so i'm just like: why y'all mean mug me?
homie: huh?
me: whyyy do y'all mean mug me?
homie: you always staring.
i ain't have a rebuttal to that.
it's true.
*shamefaced*
ah well.

i can't think of a witty title.

yeah, it's early.
i woke up at 5 in the morning.
just woke up.
and i didn't sleep very well either.
the person responsible knows who is to blame.
ahem.
anyway.
i have my spanish final today. i could pass if i was a deaf mute, so no worries there.
at this rate, i think i'll get an a in forensic psych, an a in spanish, an a (i hope) in pop cultural history, a b in p.e. (don't judge me, i hated that class and attendance was the only grade) a b in ancient rome, and a c in drugs and behavior.
but yeah.
so, my crazy neighbors, 'member them?
my mother and sister gleefully told me that rent-a-tire came and repossessed the rims off their tahoe. i don't know if this is true or not, but the tahoe has mysteeeeriously vanished and been replaced by a pt cruiser.
but anyway. in days of late, young crazy's father (hereafter referred to as baby daddy crazy) moved back into the house. i've only been following the crazy saga for the past two years or so--boredom makes you nosy--so i don't really remember when baby daddy crazy lived there before. i do remember arguments.
lots of arguments.
but anyway, mother's day, i was rolling around the metroplex like a easter bunny for baby mama day, delivering good cheer and cards and flowers and whatnot to the women of my family and used up all my gas in the process. but anyway. i was taking my dad to my granny's house--they sit and gossip like teenage girls, i swear, and then they talk bad about me and deren when we talk about people like the teenage girls WE ARE--and i saw baby daddy crazy sitting on a bench faaaar away from the house looking like somebody had shanked his puppy.
i therefore concluded that baby daddy crazy had run away from home.
can't say i blame him...
later on i saw mama crazy haranguing him back to the house.
i know he has to feel like a cuckold, 'cause he ain't got a car, he has to live with her, and...they dirty. i just know they are. i have filth senses and they tingle when i see them. they tingle hard.

finals

i got...5 of them, starting saturday.
i'm stressing, yo.
luckily, i have an a in forensic psych, so i don't need to take that one.
and assuming i finish my criminal and civil briefs, and my interoffice memo, i'll have an a in intro to law. my professor told me i do beautiful work.
did i tear up?
no.
did i want to?
yes.
my mama told me that when you are on the path god has set out for you, then you don't feel sure, but you're intrinsically good at what you're doing because that's what you're supposed to do.
and i'm good at paralegal stuff.
so i guess i'll be going to law school after all.
:D
anyway.
i couldn't fail spanish if i was a deaf-mute, so an a in there.
hopefully, i'll get an a in 20th century american cultural history. i just need to do the readings, and i'll be good.
i might maybe possibly get a b in drugs and behavior. i swear to god i hate that class. solely because it's right after my p.e. class, which does not have a final. gracias a dios.
and ancient rome might be a b as well. tuesdays and thursdays were a bust after spring break, y'all.
shoot, after spring break, i was pretty much done.
anyway. i need to review...

fast times at the racetrac gas station

i love going to the gas station. don't judge me.
i'ma petroleum dishing master. i can stop the pump on 19.99 if i want to.
they always have some hot tamales in the back for me, 'cause they RECOGNIZE ME NOW.
i'm like a celebrity.
an eccentric one who eats hot tamales at 9 am.
and every time i go to the one right by my house, on my way to school, there is a dude posted up tryna sell a cd.
now.
i am not in anyway shape of form tryna knock anybody's hustle.
iii need a hustle my own self, so i can't hate on anyone, broke as i am.
i'm jus'saying though.
you fulfilling the stereotype of err bum-ass nigga that has ever bummed(sorry, i'm really trying not to cuss but you know how that goes...).
how old are you?
28?
and this is your mixtape?
and you say you finna be signed by the end of this year?
how long you been rapping, playa?
oh, word? you gon' blow up big soon?
negro, por favor.
give it up, and turn your application in to a legit job please.
i'm not saying you won't blow up.
'cause then you probably will, and i'll be sitting here wit egg on my face, begging you for sum'n to eat.
it's just not that statistically likely.
after the age of 25 *fake statistics*, the likelihood of you getting a deal is slimmer than j.j. evans. (my diet is succeeding! -4 lbs. down, and...eleventy-billion to go!)
i'm not knocking selling the cds either. i am the proud owner of several passably good mixtapes.
however, i ain't pay for nar' one of them.
i get out of doing so thusly.
dude selling mixtapes--"ay ma, you wanna buy a cd? just $10 for four."
me (looking like butter wouldn't melt in my mouf)--"i'm sorry, i don't have $10."
dsm--"that's aight, sweetie. if you ever want one, i'm up here all the time."
me--"well, i do want one, and it does look really good...if you think you can trust me *smiles sweetly* do you think i can have it and get you your money the next time?"
dsm--"of course, baby girl. here, take it and tell your friends."
every time i see him, i still don't have his ten dollars.
(i really don't, though. my bad, mixtape man. i'ma get you back, one day. in maybe 2011.)
now. another thing.
kids growing up tryna emulate rappers.
i write cyphers sometimes. not as often as i used to since i'm "busy," but i think i'm fairly talented.
however.
i don't have any illusions that my rap career is going to take off.
for one thing, i feel ridiculous when i rap. my voice is not awe-inspiring. i sound insecure as all get out. it's just no bueno.
and while i think it's cool to rap, because it gets you kinda interested in the intricacies of language, nahmean? you might go out and buy a lil pocket sized rhyming dictionary, you try to be lyrical, make a little sense (maybe).
but the likelihood of you blowing up *more fake statistics* siiignificantly low.
even though somebody mighta told you you can be president someday, and now that we have a black president in office, little (black) kids feel like they can reach higher.
but not everybody gets to be president.
and you will probably not be a rap star.
again. not saying you won't. you could be the one in a million.
but while you doodling what your first cover will look like in chemistry, your tail better sit up and pay attention, just in case.
ish happens. life happens.
don't get caught, looking like a fool wit your pants on the ground.

twitter hath usurped my time

i'ma post. i have an addendum to tales from the gym. swear to god.
but follow @mcdevvyd, why don'tcha?

my pearly whites

so i have to wear my retainers nonstop (except for eating) for the next month.
and just like that i am instantly transported back to ninth grade nerdery.
i will not be smiling.
or talking.
for a while.
grr.
i got my braces on in december of 2004.
i got them off in october of 2006 (i can tell you what i was wearing).
i have worn my retainers since then, maybe...a couple few times.
it's a wonder my teef ain't shift.
my mama says the first set was on her, next set on me.
and uh, i ain't got $3k to drop on my mouf.
well, i do.
but that's more for my education and what not.
(speaking of which, i have a scholarship to apply for...)
i'm mildly obsessed with brushing my teeth.
i've been known to sit around for 20 minutes just brushing.
i could go through two or three tubes of colgate (colgate is all i will use, bump that crest, aquafresh ish) just by myself in a month or so.
i own use moufwash though.
how natural does a mouf full of chemicals taste?
think on it.
get back to me.
right. exactly.
anyway.
this will probably help me in my quest on the j.j. evans diet, in any case.

who is mr car

mr. car was a 2002 silver honda civic coupe. he died at my hands, though i was not charged for vehicular manslaughter.
his last words were: "you have GOT to be KIDDING MEEEE."
he is missed dearly.

r.i.p. mr. car. leave a question in his memory.

Who's the most beautiful person you know?

my sister. yes, i'm lame. but she's lovely. even when she's wilding out on me.

you can ask me 21 questions. on second thought...don't.

living for the weekend like the o'jays

so. a whole bunch of stuff popped off this weekend.
all involving african men.
africans like me. for whatever reason. probably because i look like i'm from the motherland.
i used to have a problem with ghanians.
bleh.
friday...i don't even wanna talk about it. titi knows though. involving a diamo--guy from sierra leone.
saturday, the kenyan guy asked me for my number.
i still don't know how to pronounce his name.
and i'm scared to try.
i think he thinks i'm much older though...'cause he works for the department of defense, and was a lawyer in kenya...
and uh, i talked about getting a sugardaddy, but i didn't really mean it...though i don't mind being fed on occasion.
sunday, this nigerian guy i've known for like...two years? who seems to be infatuated with me, who downloaded my pictures to his phone (should i be concerned?), called me from NIIIIIIIGERIA.
hold on.
y'all don't understand.
I AIN'T GOT NO INTERNATIONAL MINUTESSS!
and he's cool and all but uh!
i ain't got no money neither, to feed into yo obsession!
but anyway.
other stuff happened.
i just can't remember (at all, what am i doing, what am i doing...oh yeah, that's right, i'm doing meee) what it was.
besides finding a bomb antonio melani dress and matching taupe heels on sunday that i'm finna rock oh yesss.
anyway. yeah.

What song do you want played at your funeral?

swang on 'em by bun b feat. lupe fiasco. i don't know. it seems fitting.

you can ask me 21 questions. on second thought...don't.

What YouTube video made you laugh recently?

jesus christ bail bonds. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ht9EMjjr5oM
i'm probably going to hell for laughing, huh?

you can ask me 21 questions. on second thought...don't.

tales from the gym

i hate working out.
let me say that, first and foremost.
with a fiery-hot passion.
but i also hate being fat.
so it is off to the gym every tuesday and thursday i go.
i have a weight training class i'm taking from 11 to 12 (11 in the morning, mind y'all. that means for my next and last class, lucky girl that i am, i get to be first hot and sweaty, then cold and sweaty when the air conditioning kicks in. and, since it's a fairly large psychology class, of course i'm sitting ret next to an attractive man. and not just next to him--we are pressed together, thigh to sweaty thigh. *sigh*). i've taken it before at community college, but it is nothing like doing it at uta. i've noticed things.
strange things.
strange people doing these strange things. let me postulate.
for example, there is:

• creepy gym guy--i've never seen him lift nary a weight; walk, trot, gallop, nothing on a tredmill or elliptical; or hit a lick doing anything at all. all he does is sit on various machines with a (dry) towel and his (unused) weight lifting gloves and stare at people. mostly girls. it is disconcerting, to say the least, to get that last rep in on the glute machine and turn around to see him leering at your butt like it is an island in the distance, and he's a drowning man.
• over-achievers--(known in the black male form as Beefitus negro) there is nothing more shame-inducing than (a) being next to somebody on the treadmill running at like 15, on an incline of 47, while here deven goes...at 3. (b) going after somebody on a weight machine, and they have the seat adjusted for their herman munster height, and the weight was on like 250, and i have to jack the seat up to midget status and move the weights to 75. and then to have someone come after you get off, and snort at the puny amount you can do? i 'bout near cried. or (c) being next to someone on the rowing machine--my personal nemesis. i go in to the gym every time saying i'm going to show that durn concept 2 who the boss is, 'cause i paid the cost, thank-you-very-much. and err single time i get off, it essentially tells me, "deven, you are the weakest link, goodbye!"--and they pulling like they really on a boat or sum'n. so i can't look like no punk, right? i mean, i'ma broad, but a pussy i am not, dig? so i gotta pull hard too. and i come away thinking, 'oh yeah, that wasn't too bad.' but i wake up in the morning feeling (not like diddy, i can tell you THAT) like somehow i've become a paraplegic, from the waist up. 'cause my legs work fine, if it wasn't leg day, anyway. i just can't move my arms to save my life. literally. if a bus was hurtling towards me, and the only way i'll be saved is if i can lift my arms above my head...just know that i've already resigned myself to my tragic fate and repented of my many sins.
• the improperly attired--(i really can't talk. every time i wear a dress, it rains. and the last time it snowed, i was wearing a tank top and to'-up jeans) but i see women dressed in the same ish they wore to the club last night. they just have sneakers on now. we talking booty shorts, leggings as pants, sports bras that need retiring, because they ain't supporting nathan (but procreation, rip biggie) and as someone with a chest that's blessed, i just don't understand how you running with them bouncing like that. makes me sore just watching. and then the girls with full faces of makeup on...the point is what? then the dudes...men aren't as bad, maybe just 'cause i don't mind when they slip up and show skin *perv, yes i am* but the other day i saw a guy with a: too-tight ed hardy shirt, sagging skinny jeans, fake jordans (covered in plastic smh, i wasn't close enough to see if the little man was catching a football instead of a basketball, but they were fake, trust), a high top fade colored burnt orange, and to complete the ensemble, a weight belt cinched just so around his robust frame--'cause homie was husky. not a good look. another guy i saw had legs the size of my arms...let that sink in a second...and we talking width, not length. i resolved right then and there to go on a j.j. evans diet. dude had mad nerve to expose them pasty-white toothpick legs like that.

i'm so tempted to go every day, just to see what other foolish people come in, but i think i'd muuuch rather be fat, lazy and happy.

school sorrows

lately, i can't seem to work up the enthusiasm necessary to go to class.
or i'll be in class not paying a lick of attention.
*sigh*
i'm so dang ready to graduate.
did i mention i'm tryna bust up out this popsicle stand by this december?
(though i'll never be able to do it if i don't take my fool butt to class.)
anyway.
i registered for all my classes for the summer and fall last night.
yeah, that's right.
summer classes.
somebody hold me, rub my back, or pat my hand/head softly while i sob.
goodbye, dreams of getting tan (without getting dark. the last time i sat out in the sun was spring break, 2009. a week burned--ha! no pun...heck, pun intended--forever in my memory. i fell asleep by the pool of the place me and the other seniors were vacationing in, and woke up looking like a chocolate drop--bolded for emphasis of how dark i was. being dark doth not suit me, y'all. i am brown, and okay with it. plus, my lips were sunburned, and it looked like i was smoking weed. my lips are naturally pink *conceited* and i looked like i was either a) sucking on a grape popsicle, b) trying out a new plum lipstick that did not suit me at all or c) like somebody had busted me in my mouf. but...what was i saying?).
goodbye, sleeping in.
goodbye, running about dallas scantily clad, because in every community college i've ever been in, they keep it on sub-arctic in the summertime. i'ma have to look something like a polar bear...and then die when i get ready to go.
goodbye, driving around, doing nothing. because you need gas for that. and gas money. and i have none.
but hellooooooo, dart bus.
dallas area rapid transit will be my mode of transportation. luckyyyy me. i get to hobnob with hobos...conversate with crackheads...be assailed by some of the foulest scents the human body (and dirt...lots of dirt) can create.
y'all know you're jealous. i'm the envy of the world. i know.
ah, well.
could be worse.
i could be pregnant!
:D
(@ titilope, who does not read this *cough*, the last time i said this, david said: "so you say." jerk. lol)

deren's foibles

so this might not be funny to y'all.
all two of y'all.
and i don't even think titilope reads this.
*cough*
mention me on twitter or sum'n...dang.
anyway.
but i thought it was.
so my mama was making sauteed chicken last night.
she cooked it, me and deren stole some, and so on.
deren decided to have spinach and mozzarella raviolis with hers.
did not offer me nary a one.
heifer.
so she's boiling the water for the raviolis--it has to be a rolling boil, too much and they'll rupture. they're from costco; i love costco, but i digress--and looking for the chicken, 'cause my mama put it away.
she looks on the stove. the counters. the table. the refrigerator. the pantry. my mama's purse. my mama's plate. under my mama, and under me.
checks the pantry and frigidaire again, then the freezer.
opens the washer and dryer. opens the dishwasher--that we don't even use. (to my father, it puts hair on your chest to wash dishes by hand or sum'n...)
goes and looks under my mama's pillow.
at this point she's frantic.
her water is boiling, and if it goes beyond that rolling boil, her raviolis are fubar.
"ma...where is the chicken?!"
i'm just sitting and laughing and watching.
my mama takes her back to barney days--"please and thank you are the magic words."
"ma. for the love of god. WHERE IS THE CHICKEN--please."
by this time i've noticed that it's in the microwave.
i'm staring at it outright, in hopes that my daft sister will see it.
she goes right to it...and looks in the cupboards above it.
i'm thinking now that she obviously doesn't want any chicken.
my mama tells her to check under the sofa.
this fool does it.
finally she takes pity on her and opens the microwave.
deren look so crushed inside.
'cause by now her raviolis have busted wide open, and they will not be bringing it back any time soon.
but at least she found the chicken.

for her part, she did tell me this joke on monday.

deren: hey deven, how does lady gaga like her steak?

me: rare?

deren: noo.

me: well done?

deren: noo. you want me to tell you?

me: yes, deren.

deren *does bad romance dance*: RAW RAW RAW RAW RAW!

my sister for the win.

laugh politely, y'all.

my neighbors

i've been living in my neighbor hood for at least ten of my seventeen years.
when we lived with my grandma, we were in south oak cliff (that's my hood, put it in your face...*ahem* sorry. forgot myself.)
but my mama did a boondocks and made sure her kids would be soft and took us to the suburbs.
on the left side, is mr. booker. though i thought he was married, my mother and father (read, nosy) informed me that the man may or may not make an excellent fruit salad.
(calling someone gay in the fifties was ten times better than doing a riley--three being final season of boondocks by the way, ohmagawd.)
and on the right...are the crazies.
i've no idea what their last name is. the crazies will suffice.
there's mama crazy, and young crazy. there was another girl/daughter who lived there, but she had a modicum of sense, and therefore doesn't deserve the crazy name. she goes to unt, i wanna say, and she never comes back home on break. can't say i blame her.
but if we've lived there for ten years, they've been there for about seven.
and every year or so, they have some new dogs.
now.
don't get me wrong.
i love dogs.
i have a dog. lefty, the black lab. he's nine or ten in people years, and despite the fact that he punks me with reckless abandon, i love him. if he could talk, he'd sound like colonel sanders, i think.
(digression coming)
one day, it's really cold out, right?
so mr. car's windshield froze over, and i'm getting some hot water to throw on it. i open the door to the garage, let the garage door up, and proceed to scream like a banshee, 'cause my dog (a black dog, mind you) is scrabbling under the door to get in, away from the cold.
and he looks like a demon. never mind that he's a labrador retriever, and it's twice as cold there as it is in texas, my dog is a punk.
so i throw the water on the windshield, get my back pack, open the passenger door to put it in...and lo, and behold, lefty jumps in.
and would not get out.
and when i tried to coax him out, he decided to hop up in the driver's seat.
and by now, i'm thinking i'ma have to take this dog with me to school, and nearly crying about it.
i eventually got him out though. with trickery, deceit, and beggin' strips.
but. i've digressed. right. i love my dog.
but he lives outside.
and all of their dogs live inside.
dogs are animals. animals live outside. even if i wanted him inside, my mama says NO. and now we have wood floors? sorry, lefty. it's not gonna happen.
they took the carpet out once, and the sight of the feces-fouled flooring...alliteration in this piece, what? made me retch a little.
every year (or so) it's a new pair. first year, it was a mother rottweiler and a puppy.
they left quick.
then it was yippy and yappy.
the punkest dogs to ever live.
they always wanna put some bass in they throat to growl at you, but you sneak up on the busters, and say "BOO!" they will be yipe-yipe-ing away, faster than you can say stupid dogs...
nowadays, because i can't remember the others, there is special dog, and fool dog.
apparently their names are sugar and midnight, respectively.
special dog is mildly retarded, in my opinion.
but fool dog.
epics could be written about this dog.
i'm pretty sure if he could talk, he'd sound like a mix of dave chappelle and katt williams.
"sayyy, lemme holla atchu for a second there, playa..."
just like that. and he literally pimp walks. sum'n is wrong with his paw, but it only makes him that much more (is that proper english?) awesome.
but yeah. there are other crazy stories i could tell about my neighbors (like the time young crazy, who has to be my age, in the 9th grade and oddly resembling a walrus, was sitting outside, by herself in a skimpy swimsuit--mine eyessss--on a slip and slide...that was dry), but i think i'll save those for another post.

formspring.me

you can ask me 21 questions. on second thought...don't. http://formspring.me/devvyfbaby

he irks me

i hate when people wanna argue with you for ish that you ain't even do, and then make you apologize for it, all in the name of l-o-v-e.
you know what?
love can suck my imaginary penis.
hard.
it's twenty-ten, and lust is innn...
i wish i could put him on blast...but that's not my style.
instead, i think i'ma oh-so-casually forget about him.
like all about him.
like the negro's name.
mannn don't let me see you in chi-town...

i give...

i was gonna try and sum up what happened since...3/4/10 in a separate post, but i spent a good part of my spring break in a comatose, consumption-like state. so ish is hazy.
i did get a new car and phone though.
well, the phone is new to me, but beggars can't be choosers.
and i'd rather carry around a ROTARY phone than that firefly.
and the car is a 2005 civic. so i upgraded.
this one is gold. how many gold civics have y'all seen?
hold on, i'll wait.
exactly.
they're all silver.
i can always find my car now.
deren has told me that it's name is giovanni. derek concurs.
but my mama says it's name is goldie, and it's a peeeeemp.
and she snaps her fingers in this jive kinda dance step thing when she says it.
and it's embarrassing.
and she does it in public.
often.
but this one has way more problems than mr. car ever did.
(the speakers are better, though.)
it had tire vibration, and the malfunction light came on, and the whole car started shaking, and i got out to tighten the gas cap, in front of the pitbull house--they have pitbulls, and they always out, and my fool tail parked right in front, and got out like i ain't know the deal...i heard barks, and i promise you i moved faster than marion jones back into the relative saftey of the car--but it still was acting up.
so i took it in.
*sigh*
but he's back now so yayyy...

okay.

i have not posted.

yes.

i know.

shut up.

i have a life too.

a lame life.

but a life nonetheless.

midterms were ehhh.

but it's spring break now!

so.

i got a lot to talk about.

i'ma break it down thusly.

today, i'ma tell y'all what my mama told me and my siblings the other day.

so. i'd set the scene, but i don't remember all the brackets and ish i used.

we're in the car, my mama's taking me to school.

so we're talking, and i had this sparkle eyeliner on. just 'cause i like the way my eyes look with it on, okay?

and errtime i wear it, it seems like i have a meeting after class, so my mama seems to think that i have someone i'm looking "good" for. yeah. right.

so the sunlight hits my eyes (i had been trying to hide my face for this very reason, you see.) and she says, "OHHHHHHHH, you got sparkles in yo eyessssssss!"

and my brother and sister chime in that i must be tryna look good for Jaquavion an' 'nem.

he's my imaginary boyfriend, apparently. yeah. i know how to pick 'em.

so they mocking me, and i'm praying that the forbidden one does not come up in conversation, 'cause deren was getting this crazy look in her eye, the one that let's me know i'm about to get mocked.

so i swiftly turn the conversation around to...DEREK.

you see, my brother has a fondness for hispanic girls.

he's also kinda...let me be nice...sensitive.

(a.k.a. A PUSSY.)

anyway, so we're talking about him now. my mama calls him a vato, et cetera.

he tries to turn back around to me.

i ain't having it.

i say "NAW, let's talk about deren!!!"

my mama says "yeah! you got a foul stank attitude!"

and i'm kinda angry, 'cause i want her to talk about deren and some people.

but deren--wisely--does not put her business out in the streets (and no, i'm not just saying this because she's watching me type). she really doesn't. it's downright upsetting.

so she turns it back to derek, and we talk about derek until i get out the car.

my mama lets this drop:

she would not be accepting of any body we dated outside of our race.

and i'm sure that a lot of black parents are this way. "if he can't use your comb, don't bring him home" and so on. and i understand that.

but...uh...it's 2010. and i don't know if the statistics have changed, but last time i heard, it was 1 black man for every 4 black women.

....

my math skills ain't that great, but uh.

that means i only have a 25% shot at a black guy.

and why am i going to stress somebody who knows that he can have his pick of women?

loose women too. i'ma bit of a freak, but i'm mostly a prude.

so while i want a strong black man, yeah, i'm not holding my breath. especially when men of other races are sexyyyyy...*cough ivan salazar please be my baby daddy pleeeeease cough*

but my mama said that when you deny your own race, you're denying your mother.

because if you're a black dude, dating a woman of another race, it's self-hatred.

i don't feel that way at all.

what if you're shallow like i am, and dating them because they're fiiiiiine? despite their color (or lack thereof)?

but then i got out running at the stop light--she ain't e'en stop the car, y'all...

filler

i got midterms.
i'm sorry.
i'ma post.
swear to god.
'cause there's a lot of stuff that went down in the past week or two that i got to bus' y'all over the head with.
but midterms first.
i've already failed one. and passed another with a B.
Five more to go.
pray for me.

my family is crazy

so i've been getting along better with my family nowadays. except deren. (she broke my phone. and that is keeping me from talking to my baby. she's not going to be easily forgiven.)
on monday, me and my mama went to whole foods. it was actually fun. we talked about a lot of stuff--how i'd have to con somebody into doing my hair, by calling them on the phone and not letting them see this whole bush baby effect i have going on; why our hands are always cold; the irony of my skinny jeans sagging...weight loss is nice, but dangit...my clothes don't fit...; and so on.
i love my mama. everyone used to say i looked like her (when my hair was straight) but now they say i look like my pater with her sense of humor.
yesterday, me and my pater had a conversation that did not involve one of the parties getting aggravated, irritated, or frustrated with the other. it was pretty amazing. i love my dad, but we don't communicate particularly well, dig?
derek and deren. ah. my siblings.
derek is just goofy per usual. and studying for medical terminology. the competition is at disney--land? world? whichever one's in florida. i can never remember. so deren and i are quizzing him, because i went to disneyland? world? orlando when i was little, and she hasn't been at all. my father doesn't want derek to fail, per se, but he doesn't want to spend eleventy-billion dollars to go to the knockoff disney park.
(my dad is from l.a. he feels strongly about cali. we weren't allowed to not like the lakers.)
and deren is apparently training to be a ufc fighter. WHY DOES SHE KICK SO HIGH?! i ain't but 5'2"! she nearly caught me in the lip!
and then we woulda fought forreal.
my lips are my money makers.
that and my thighs.
moving on.
i realize that i talk about deren a lot more than everyone else because a) she's my baby sister and also because b) she's stooooone cooooold craaaazy.
when i take abnormal psych next semester, for my case brief, i'm so doing her.
a hormonal, pubescent, bipolar sociopath? that's the stuff psychologists dream of late at night.
kids say the darnedest things, but she says insane things.
anyway.
this was a turrible post.
i'm not very funny today, am i?
i blame the pineapples.

gimme yo number, and i'll callllll...

well. no, i wouldn't. i
i'm not really the biggest fan of talking on the phone. unless it's late-night conversations where we're both tired but neither of us wants to hang up because we like talking to each other so much and we end up talking about either food or sex, or food and sex...ahem.
but yeah, i wouldn't call if you gave me your number.
not that i could anyway.
deren broke my phone.
i own get no upgrade until june, either.
-__-
it was already unhinged on one side, but it WORKED. now i'm like the rest of the peons and plebeians: phone-less and car-less.
it's a sad sad sad world.
and why, may you ask, did deren break it?
let me set the scene...
[open scene with deven reading in her bed.]
{door opens and slams.}
[deren storms past deven's room, deposits her backpack in her bedroom, backs up, takes a running jump into deven's room and lands on her bed.]
"heyyy, deven."
"hello, deren."
[deren makes a grab for the phone, laying beside deven on the bed. deven sees her devilish intent, and swiftly hides phone under thigh, effectively obliterating it from sight. because deven's thighs are disproportionate to her little body.]
"lemme see your phone."
[deren scrabbles for it under deven's thigh. deven unsuccessfully tries to press her thigh down, but deren succeeds in getting the phone.]
"gimme my phone, deren."
"why? i need it. and don't nobody call you no how. that's why you ain't go--"
"GIVE IT HITHER, HEIFER."
[deren and deven struggle for a moment. deven succeeds in pinning deren to the bed. this is harder than it sounds. though deren is naught but 98 lbs (7 stone) fully clothed, soaking wet, with pockets full of change, she is strong and wily. and taller than deven.]
{phone drops.}
[deren looks at the phone, and gets an overwhelming urge to take a niiice, long shower. deven sighs and picks the phone up. she notices that it comes apart in her hand. it's a flip phone that will never flip again.]
"DEREN...you killed it!! i own get no upgrade until juuuune!!!"
{maniacal laughter from the bathroom.}
[end scene.]

she lucky i love her and whatnot, or i woulda killed her in her sleep. i was expecting a call...

weekend adventures

so. big stuff popped off this weekend.
actually. no. no, it didn't. but i feel better saying that.
i am one of the few remaining recluses in this world. i like staying home. home is where the bed is. but i ventured out on saturday...to my paralegal class. intro to law, where the professor repeats errthing...ERRTHING...he says 3 times. it's kinda cute and kinda irritating. this is the self-same class where a kenyan guy came up to me and started talking to me in swahili. yeah. 'cause of my hair. when i gave him crazy eyes, he was like 'where are you from?' and i swiftly assured him i was from texas, and i was african-american as opposed to african-african. but yeah. i have a test due next week. i'ma fail.
so my friend (she's hispanic, and two years older than i am. she mothers me) called me on friday, and said her brother was taking classes at the same community college, and that we should hang out together. my other option was going home and going to bed (it was looking goooood), going with my family car-shopping (and my parents would be talking mess the entire time: 'yeah, we're looking for a car, 'cause she *points at me* wrecked hers.' no bueno) or hang out with my friend and go shopping.
i love my bed, but i also like to shop.
so she called me while i was waiting, and said, 'go mess wit the guy in the khaki jacket. that's my brother.'
so i go up, and i start with some mad corny line, 'i noticed you, noticing me, et cetera.'
whyyy did homie look me in my eyes all sad and confused and say "sum'n-sum'n-no entiendes ingles-sum'n-sum'n'?
you could've knocked me over wit a feather. i'm mad stuttering, tryna say sum'n in spanish. coming up wit nada. and then my friend pulls up, cackling.
so we go over her house, and they feed me chorizo con huevo y salchichas y tortillas. y un ojo? i don't know what it was but it was delicious.
and it was good.
and then we went to northpark.
northpark, for non-dallasites, is upscale. not quite the galleria, but far better than what i'm used to.
she was grumbling because she forgot her purse, and if you don't have a purse, the salespeople's eyes glide right over you. i noticed this especially, because i was the only black person rolling like 10 deep with a bunch of hispanic people. and i was talking mess the entire time.
we went in dillard's, and i swiftly got spritzed at the chanel counter. i love chance by chanel. if anyone ever wants to get in good with me, gimme some of that. i'll do (close) to whatever you want.
so we came back to her house, and they fed me pork chops (i don't know the spanish for what it was) con arroz y jugo de limon y pina. it was excellent. her grandmother was pleased with me for knowing spanish enough to make small talk. i got a hug.
then me and my friend sat in a hammock, ate chocolate chip cookies, and watched new jack city, while i explained the nuances of black culture as portrayed through film.
"you better sit your five dollar ass down before i make change..."
good times.
i got home at eleven. which is late for me.
we missed church in the morning. i felt a little bad, and then i turned over and went to sleep again.
the lord forgives.
my family established that a) i was a simpleton, and b) i cannot ever commit any kind of crime, because i would be caught almost immediately.
i have a refreshing--i think so, anyway--blend of naivety and worldliness that i attribute to my mixture of the king's english and ebonics. "my mama said speak like you got a college degree. see, i can, but i won't. plus i’m saying what i won’t, plus this slang that i speak don't change that i'm deep..." (j. cole is my new baby daddy.)
sooo, yeah. that was my weekend.
me and deren are going on the amazing race, by the way. look for us. we'll be the ones fighting the entire time.

i graduate next year. madness.

i guess i really haven't thought this through. story of my life.
i kinda regret getting my associate's in high school. 'cause now i'm always in...not limbo, but something a lot like it.
everyone in my classes is super old. (especially the fine guys. there is nothing more disappointing than being in class with someone who is like 22 and fiiine like 'i'd just like to thank your mama and daddy for making you fine and remembering oh right, i'm 17...you'd go to jail...dangit...') and everyone my age is in high school still. so we have nothing in common except age. i can't talk to a high school guy about anything of any particular importance. and, not to sound as shallow as i truly am, they aren't as (faux) intellectual as i am, annnd they ain't got nary a car nor a job. and now that mr. car is deceased (R.I.P. mr car...gone but never forgotten!) and i have to pay the deductible...ummm i got exactly no time for someone who's broke as me. what we finna do? sit and be broke together? nawww. that's how babies get made, for lack of anything else to do.
when i'm this broke, it's laughably cute--derek yesterday went through my wallet, and i said, "you don't have to bother, ain't nothing in there but 30 cents." derek said, "you know the contents of your wallet well..." that's because when you're poor, err cent is precious. you give your money nicknames, like old faithful 1992 penny, and trusty 2005 dime. because y'ain't tryna spend it. yeah, i know the dates. shut up. times are hard. we in a recession. in these trying economic times, err cent counts...
but a dude who's this broke? no bueno, papi. you ain't got a hustle? like at all? none? even iii have a hustle, albeit it's babysitting. but still. babysitting adds up, eventually. i hope.
anyway.
so i can't win.
i'm a little girl in a grown woman's world. but i'm still expected to conform to the same rules as the adults that surround me, while maintaining that, yes, i am a child.
do you see my frustration?
i wish i could play the age card--"i couldn't understand this reading, sir, because i wasn't born in 1985, and i have no recollection of president clinton's terms"--but if i told anybody here how old i was, the pressure would just be harder. and i'm tired of pressure.
and--dangit, i forgot my lsat book--i have to take the lsat soon, and i'm stressed out about it. somedays i wonder if law is even really what i want to go into. 'cause i HATE school. with a passion that surprises most people. just because i'm good at this, doesn't mean i enjoy it. if i was a math prodigy, i don't think i would like it any more than i do now.
and my paralegal class is okay, but i don't know if i want to do.
but i feel like i picked this career in what? ninth grade or sum'n...and now i have to stick with it, because i've done too much thus far on that particaular track. what do i even like?
(reading and sleeping. that's it. and unless tempurpedic is looking for a lifetime bed tester, i'm screwed utterly. )

bollocks.
now what?

***for a humorous sidebar, since i laid some heavy ish down, i'll add that deren and i wrestled for like half an hour last night. why? because deren decided that it would be a great idea.
she came in my room.
knocked me out my bed.
made me lose my page.
and commenced to beat me.
with my umbrella.
she also messed up my bedsheets.
and that wrecks my nerves. it's bad enough that i sleep like somebody's fighting me in my sleep...she gotta maliciously snatch my sheet from being tucked? so i commence to beat her back. and at this point she--my sister lightskin, y'all, and i'm brownskin...we don't look related, at all; and her hair is straight, and mine's napped up, and i wear glasses and she supposed to, but she don't. she got a contact for her left eye. hilarious. though i can't watch her put that thing in, it makes me cry...but i'm so off track at this point--is all red on her arms, she got bite marks on her legs and i've attempted to tear her hair out her head from the root. and what is she doing? crying?
no.
screaming at me?
no.
is she at least bloodied and bruised?
nope. this heifer is giggling like a crackhead.
i just don't understand.
have nice day like roxanne shante.***

he's baaaaack...

this is my obligatory"all the way girlt up" post.

sooo one of my best friends in the world contacted the guy i used to talk to for like all of last year, and she told him that i was moping around and i missed him and i was singing old sad love songs and so on and so forth. and it's true. i really love/d him, to my chagrin. i'd like to be utterly emotionless, but i can't. he wouldn't let me.
but he has this sexxxy baritone voice that makes me melt like errtime i hear it, and these gorgeous brown eyes and full lips and smooth dark skin--he's very dark, and usually i like 'em light-bright-almost white but he changed my taste and errthing...madness--and he's taller than me (not that that's hard, with my lollipop-guild-representing-tail) and he's from chi-town...and he says he missed me too and can't wait to talk to me either...!...mmm...aight, take it back, take it back...i presented y'all wit too much information...
and i'm sad to say that i utterly girled out when i learned this.
i mighta squealed.
but...i am presented with a dilemma.
because i stopped talking to him when my mama found out he was 25.
yeahhh buddy. ya girl likes them older.
if he robbing the cradle by talking to me, then i guess i'm robbing the morgue, right? but i digress.
the other problem is that he might call me once a month. do y'all know how upsetting getting called once a month is?
nawww, playa, y'all don't understand. let me break this down for you.

*cue dream sequence*

aight. so it's the beginning of the month.
sexiness personified: baby, i'ma call you tomorrow.
the fool, a.k.a. me: you are?
s.p.: yes, baby. i promise.
--tomorrow comes--
no call.
--next day--
no call.
--three weeks later--
nope.
and by this time, i've either caved and called the man, or...
--the very next night--
now i've been thinking for the past 3-4 weeks that when this dude calls...i'ma ice him out...i ain't saying i love him...i ain't doing NONE of it! yeah! that's what happens when y'ain't call when you said you would!
-phone rings-
-i'm half asleep and angry at getting woke up-
fool: *angry voice* hello?!
s.p.: hey, baby...
fool: *melts* heyyy...

*end dream sequence*

can you see how that mess will jack your mind up? i'm not fond of that. at all.
but...he's worth it.

*end girling out*

they lucky we was at chuuch.

now. i love children. just to get that out the way.
but i love them in small doses. do not come to me asking me to keep your kids for a day. i can keep your kids for 6 hours at most. any longer, you'll be coming home to a crime scene. unless you have good kids, who sleep. i dig sleeping kids,'cause that means i get to sleep too. don't think i won't, either. (thus are the benefits of being yea tall--i can curl up in a toddler bed and have room to stretch a little.)
but all weekend, except for saturday (and i might have then too, but saturday is oddly blurred in my mind...that benadryl got me so far gone, y'all...) i babysat. on friday deren and i sat for our parents' small group. i got the little kids, 3 and under, including the cutest baby in the world.
swear to god, if i had her right now, i'd make a run for the border. the only thing keeping me from it is remembering how much she likes to eat. child ain't a year and a half yet, and recognizes mcdonald's bags. that's some bad stuff. i can barely afford to eat my ownself, i definitely can't feed her.
but anyway. deren had the old, bad kids.
see, i can't stand a bad kid. especially if they not related to me. if you watching your cousins, you can pop them upside the head and remind them what's what. you can't do that wit other people's kids. 'cause that's my only hustle at the moment. i don't need rumors of deven attempting to kill children getting out.
so the small group was at my aunt's and uncle's house, and me and all the little kid's were in my youngest cousin's room. before we were in the movie room, but the big kids kicked us out. while we were in there though, one of the babies gave deren the filthiest look i've ever seen in life. he mean-mugged her like he was getting paid. from the side, no less! i was impressed and terrified all at the same time.
but i got 11 dollars out of that one. all good.
sunday, i had to teach in sunday school. oddly enough, i actually enjoy teaching. it makes me happy that i can encourage the little kids to love god.
but. sunday school means that the p.k.'s are in full effect.
i can stand a bad kid. for an hour or so.
i can take a screaming baby, 'cause i can generally soothe them--i think half the reason most babies like me, especially if they mamas breastfed them, is my mammary glands, real talk; the other half is 'cause i'm just so dang awesome.
but a p.k.? NOT NEVER.
these little kids were telling my other students that a) i was evil. b) they didn't implicitly call me a witch, but apparently i make potions in my spare time. and when one kid was like she goes to church though, they logically pointed out that there's no telling what i do during the week. i will give them props for intelligence. and c) that i got them in trouble some kinda way. GOOD. you deserve to be in trouble!
i congratulate myself on not attempting to strangle them. my fingers were twitching though.
in other news: my family's illness has finally caught up to me.
i had been doing so well...not staying on campus meant i avoided all the sickos. but my father teaches elementary; errthing they get, he gets 10x. and my pitiful malnourished little body got this 20x. rawr. i'm taking more benadryl when i get home. :D

feed me, seymour...

y'all would think that 'cause i stay at home, i'd be eating right, 3 meals a day, rightright?
NAW.
what's worse is when people come around me with food.
and, while i will mooch off you if i know you well--like a dog, swear to god. i will stare at you mournfully until i receive some of what you're eating--but i can't beg from strangers...to my chagrin. i tried to fix my mouth to ask dude in my ancient rome class for some fruit roll up (as i live and breathe, fruit roll up. it had that room smelling delicious. then he had the nerve to be tryna open it slow so he wouldn't disturb the lecture. so it was crackling and smelling better and better; finally i turnt around and was like "JUST DO IT! BEFORE I SNATCH IT FROM YOU AND EAT IT." because i get aggressive when i'm hungry.) but i couldn't do it. he probably woulda gave me some too.
eh. i don't know where he's been.
that's the one downfall to being moderately obsessive compulsive. i don't mind my room getting untidy. i clean it up err week or so, but it doesn't bother me.
what does bother me is dirty. people.
lemme break this down for you.
if you walk by, and plants are dying in your wake?
you might be dirty.
if you sitting in class, and there is nobody near you: i'm talking you sitting in the middle of the room, and errbody else (including the professor) is clinging to the walls?
you might be dirty.
if you talking to somebody, and you notice that they ducking your breath, or standing two feet from you, and when you try to move in, they maintain that two feet so that they may continue to breathe unpolluted air?
you just might be dirty.
i'm just saying.
bathing is one of my small joys in life. brushing my teeth, washing my hair, they make me happy. being clean makes me happy. why it does not give some of y'all the same pleasure, i will never know.
though i do refuse to comb my hair out. i only do it once a month. that huuurts! y'all don't understand. deren swear i got roaches in my head, and that is just one of the many reasons i 'ain't got no man.'
some of her reasons include: 1) you chew too loud. that's why you ain't got no man. 2) why your breasts always out? them men don't want them hot females that's been around the block females, you nasty girl...that's why you ain't got no man. 3) your handwriting look like chicken scratch, and that's why you ain't got no man.
all of this from a 13 year old 98-lb weakling, who, remarkably, has no man either. i tried to use this logic on her, but she shuns logic. she says logic is why i ain't got no man. *sigh*
BUT. i digress. per usual.
today my grandmother is going to pick me up, since i get off suuuper early.
and y'all know what that means...
i'ma eat!
it's sad how excited i am.
but hey.
if music be the food of love...feed the devens.

life without mr. car

since i wrecked my car, i've come to realize what a blessing he really was. i have to get up at 6 am. errday.
hold up. this is the first time i've really thought about it. i have to process.
...
SIX IN THE MORNING. seis a la manana. i am literally living the commodores' zoom. i wake up with the sun each morning, and i walk amongst the stars at night, because any night finding me in my bed--i love my bed. and it loves me. any time i have to leave his warmth, i swear i hear him calling me back. "deven...hey, girl, where you going...? no, baby...come back. lay down. i love you. baby, please..." just like that. can you blame me for oversleeping sometimes? it's like a siren call from sleep experts. (you may have noticed that for whatever reason, many of the inanimate objects in my life are male. so mr. bed, mr. car, mr. ipod, etc.) but. i digress--any night finding me in my bed before 10:30 pm is a blessing.
so. count with me. i'm in bed, tank topped and boy-shorted, at 10:30. let's say it takes 30 minutes for me to fall asleep, for the sake of argument, and because i'm bad at math. it's a gross lie, because i fall asleep immeeediately. so i'm getting, on average, 8 hours of sleep.
now. y'all might think i'm crazy for complaining. "eight hours of sleep? i'd make a puppy pull a freight train for eight hours of sleep err night."
actually. i should be pleased. dangit! i came on here to rant and now i gotta rescind it.
fine. what was i talking about anyway?
right. mr. car.
we passed by the collision repair place he's at (he's still not being worked on) and as we passed, deren was like, "WOW, you really messed him up...wooow...i bet mr. car hates you."
thanks, deren.
nothing like a little sister to put the cherry on top of what is already a bad situation. and she wonders why i beat her mercilessly when i can get away with it.

(sidebar: deren does not know the words to songs. any of them. we were singing minnie ripperton's love, stop making a fool of me last night, and she was like, "you're just a *something-mumble-something* AND I KNOW THAT III SHOULD BE LOOKING FOR MORE..." i could tell her, and i have tried, until i was blue in the face--no mean feat--that it was "a lover out to score," but she will continue in her somethings. she has sang entire songs that consisted of somethings. except the one line she did know. if you ever wondered what was wrong with me, deren messed my psyche up.)

but yeah.
i miss my car sum'n fierce.