roxy and i drove around aimlessly on thursday—her errands, not mine. lots of random pics of the city. very much tourist-esque. she found her party dress while i tried on dresses out of bordeom. the party was fun. there was horrible food, a wack ass dj, but we sure did wild the fuck out. carlene shaved her head, tricia cussed out the dj, and no one could tell roxy and i apart. my girls and my family; what more could a girl ask for? of course, there had to be that one person to ask for "my light-skinned counterpart." i'm officially done with that. i can't afford to lose any more sleep or cry any more tears. i told carlene about the whole ordeal, then i told her about zion. she flipped; not because of robert having a two-year old son—as i thought she might have—but because i supported his ass and his kid, and he's so friggen ungrateful, and he has the audassity to just disappear.
i think i should stop cursing in my blogs. that'll be a test.
my trefoil charm popped off my phone. sad much?
i caught one of my mini bitch fits at work. mother dearest just upsets me with everything relating to life and her views of "the real world" that i can't control it sometimes. i cried a little in the stockroom at work today. she just puts so much pressure on me. now, i understand she wants the best for me, but i’m young—let me live a little. please?
daddy’s having the surgery for his parkinson’s on the 19th, so my sister’s flying up this week. we definitely do not get along. everyone knows she’s the favorite, and she hates me because i’ve had daddy my whole life. the warden sibling rivalry is weird, since we all hate each other for our own reasons. but my pride is my best friend and i’ll be the bitch to say i am the more fortunate child—not in the financial respect, because that’s definitely my oldest brother. i’ve gotten the chance to build a better relationship with my father—not saying that i have—since my parents have been married for about twenty-five years, i’m the only child that even went to high school, is in college now, while maintaining a job, and i don’t have kids. between my three siblings, i have five nieces and nephews. i do, in part, owe that to my upbringing, but, call me selfish if you must, that’s not really enough. my father didn’t come to my high school graduation because he wasn’t feeling well, but he sure as hell got himself on a plane and flew to barbados to attend some corrections officer training completion ceremony for my sister [who isn’t even working as a c.o. now.] let cecile call and ask daddy for anything, he’ll get it for her, but he’ll always ask me for money. my mother can easily pull out her ass and drop a grand to fly her, the step child who talks endless amounts of bullshit about her, to new york, but let me ask for just a metro card or five dollars, and there’s a problem. my sister is friggen thirty years old with two kids, no job, and living with some man; is it too much to ask for a little support in anything i do from my parents? i just want some feeling of acceptance.
enough with the depressing shit . . .
mac and cheese and calamari—lunch was banging today. i love le basket.
these losers i call my co-workers—good times, man, good times. so there’s this weird old white guy, steve. he just makes the most slack, sexual, comments. he said some shit about waking up with someone’s tongue in your butthole. i almost killed myself with laughter when marlon told me that shit. it was a conversation about ridiculous survival techniques, and the butthole comment was steve’s two cents. toya and i were looking at cassie’s fast ass in complex at lunch, and old-man steve couldn’t put his eyes back into his head. i always seem to get the same lunch hour as him, which is quite disturbing to me. i really do try to avoid him—definitely not going near the elevators [that have no cameras.] but the stock guys are worst. i always seem to walk in at the most inappropriate times, catching the conversations at their peaks; things like chasing booty and looking up at me while she’s giving me head. gotta love it.
bowling with the losers on friday. it’s odessa’s peace out event. i’ll miss her.
hair show on saturday. practice tomorrow. i’m pooped . . .