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.