Wednesday Workshop: Two For One Special, That'll Be $4.78 Please

Hey folks, it's that time again. Because I am so dull awesome, I'm going to be doing two prompts this week. The first of this week's prompts from Mama Kat is

4.) Write about something that bothered you this week.

5...4...3...2...1...

I am not close to either of my parents. I never have been and I doubt I ever really will be. My mom worked all the time and my dad...well he did anything but hang around us. So when my mom had a new job when I was 15 and wanted to spend time with me, I was really really jaded towards her. Still am, I suppose. We've made progress since then but she is not someone I go to with my problems.

So with Thanksgiving coming up I needed to finalize my plans. I called her before heading to my first graders this morning where she kind of started to give me the fifth degree because I wouldn't be getting there until Thursday morning and don't plan to stay any longer than Saturday afternoon.

She asked me why I couldn't come home Wednesday. I replied that I had a test Wednesday night and would rather not have to drive an hour and a half afterward. And as for me leaving on Saturday, I've learned my lesson about spending too much time there.

I won't go into specifics but my last visit consisted mainly of arguing, tears, and alcohol. Not even necessarily in that order.

Then afterward I feel guilty that I am not staying longer though I know good and well that I'd be miserable. So when my cousins leave, I won't be far behind them. I was actually told I was being childish for not wanting to be around fighting parents.

Maybe I'm just tired of having to be the adult.

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To end on a lighthearted note, here's my second prompt:

1.) The last time I laughed really hard...

5...4...3...2...1...

After Bio lecture had let out, I met The Pop Queen in the building and decided to catch up with her while I still had some free time. While we were sitting, this girl who neither of us knew came up to us who I shall refer to as C and started chatting to me.

What was my name?

What was my major?

What I liked to do for fun?

After she's pretty much asked me for my life story, she asks if I would like to come to her sorority's party on Friday night.

Now me being my lovable dense self, I don't realize that this woman has been hitting on me the entire conversation until The Pop Queen has to muffle her laughter in her scarf in order to remain inconspicuous. Once C has left, The Pop Queen fills me in on what I failed to notice.

Later in the night, I get the following test message from The Pop Queen:

"So are you going to that party, because I would feel weird going without you since she just said I could come because you're my bbf (black best friend) and she was pretty hot. Since you're dating [Eva], think you could send her my way? Please and thank you."

Cue laughter. I heart my twin.

Yes I Have An Accent; Is There A Problem?

Being stereotyped is nothing new to me. I'm a black guy standing at 5'11 and about 190 lbs, it's something I long ago learned was going to happen. Stereotypes regarding my appearance I try and let just roll off my back, it's difficult but it's better than becoming bitter right? I long ago lost count of how many times I've had women cross the street from me in fright if I'm walking at night but that's a whole other post in itself.

So in my 20 years of life I have never had this happen.

I was serving two guys and a girl about my age and as I asked them what they wanted to drink both burst out into laughter. I was confused.

The girl said it was good they were giving people from the area jobs near campus and freeing up for students for studying.

Hold the phone.

Pasting a shit-eating grin on my face, I explained that I was a student and this was how I paid for my bills and rent.

They looked at each other in shock and the guy had the balls to ask me to show my student ID. I flashed it and they asked if I was a student, why would I have a southern accent? The other guy said he didn't know they allowed hicks in.

So because I grew up in the country, I'm not intelligent?

I guess that 3.8 GPA is just pity then.

Who knew?

A Public Service Announcement

Folks, I've worked in restaurants off and on since the summer of 2003. I would like to think I have a good idea of what I'm doing by now. That being said, I don't necessarily need you to nitpick at every little thing in our restaurant.

When the hostess on duty tells you that it will be a few minutes for a table to be cleaned, she isn't giving you the go ahead to sit down. If you see me clearing a table, don't assume it's free yet. That is rather disgusting. If you do perform the preceding action, do not ask me to please hurry up and then have the cojones to look at me like I'm holding up your day.

Then there is tipping. Tips equal a waiter/waitress's lifeblood. I long ago learned how to smile at someone despite how annoyed they made me. I make sure you and your party always have drinks and that your food is out as soon as possible. I joke around to make your stay more enjoyable. So when I come to start cleaning off your table, I hate to see only dishes and used napkins left behind. This makes me think it is not worth it.

Speaking to the guys out there, if the female waitress repeatedly tells you to stop hitting on her and then you proceed to grab her wrist we will escort your ass out. If you try and fight me on this, I will not be gentle on doing so. Oh and don't threaten to try and get me fired because I moved out of the way of your fist. The fact that my boss laughed in your face should prove how stupid that is.

That concludes this PSA. You may now return to your regularly scheduled programming. Thank you.

Thank God For Patience

So for those who haven't heard, early voting started today in North Carolina. Between people eager to vote for someone they believe will deal with the economic crisis or those who just wish to avoid the sardine-style lines at the polls on November 4, there was a decently sized turnout by any count.

Here I am, wearing a polo shirt, khakis, and my work shoes, just wanting to get home and into some comfortable clothes when I see these two women wearing McCain/Palin paraphernalia. T-shirts, visors, buttons, the works. Thanks to my Nana, I am (most of the time) unfailingly polite to people older than me. So when these women ask me if I would show support for McCain, I didn't follow my first instinct and laugh in their faces.

Me: I'm sorry ma'am but I do intend to vote for Senator Obama when I actually get to the polls.

Woman #1: Sir, all we ask is that you listen.

Me: I have no problem with that Ma'am.

Woman #2: Did you know that Obama supports abortion?

Me: No Ma'am I did not know that. I thought he just supported the right to the option.

Woman #1: They are the same thing in God's eyes. He doesn't care about an unborn baby's right to live.

Me: And a child born of rape or incest, or what if the mother is not physically capable of bringing the baby to term? What then?

Woman #1: That is not the child's fault. It should not be punished.

Woman #2: Do you support abortion Sir?

Me: The idea makes me ill Ma'am but I support a woman's right to choose. I believe, like Senator Obama, that supporting the decision in Roe v. Wade is the only way to avoid the back-alley abortions and needless deaths stemming from that.

Woman #2: I suppose you support marriage for gays as well?

Me: Fully. I believe in the line of the Declaration of Independence that says we are all entitled to the life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I would proudly stand beside my friends as they say their vows and look forward to the day they won't have to travel out of state to do so.

Woman #1: But God declared marriage should be between one man and one woman. How can any God fearing Christian support anything else?

Me: I don't fear God Ma'am, any God I should fear seems petty and thus I will not put my faith in him.

Woman #1: Sir, you must see that Obama will run this country into the ground.

Me: Ma'am, you must see that we've been run into the ground for the last 8 years. It's time for a change of pace.

Woman #1: You're young though, what do you really understand about politics?

Me: If I were supporting Senator McCain and Governor Palin, you would not ask me that question so please do not subject me to double standards.

Woman #2: So are you voting for Obama because you're black?

Me: No, prior to his dropping from the race I was supporting John Edwards. Are you voting for Senator McCain because he's white?

At this point, they both got offended and walked off. Sometimes I have to marvel at how much patience I have.

It's sad but I'm ready for this election to be over.

I'm tired of mudslinging and name-calling. I'm tired of listening to my mother say only a racist white person would vote for McCain and I'm tired of hearing the only reason a black person would vote for Obama is because of his skin colour. I'm tired of hearing Obama called a terrorist. I'm tired of hearing about Palin's family (especially her daughter) in the news. I'm tired of all the pettiness and all the stupidity. I'm tired of often feeling ashamed of my country. I want to not care anymore. But I know myself well enough to know that isn't going to happen.

I'm just tired.

Ralph Nader in 2012 anyone?

Speak Out Series: Eva

(Note From the Management: The opinions expressed in the Speak Out Series are those of their individual writer and not necessarily shared by myself. The only influence I have on this is showing them how to post and letting them use my password. Thank you.)




First, allow me to introduce myself. I am the Talented Miss Eva and yes, I am the one crazy (read: desperate) enough to date Kendall. Just kidding Sweetheart.

I'll answer a few questions you may have about the picture to the left before we get started tonight. Yes, they are real. Yes, I am a natural blonde although I will admit that I added bleach to it shortly before I left for that trip. No, you may not check the carpet.

Now that my preamble is out of the way, we can get down to the meat and potatoes of this little post of mine.

"I hope people realize there is a brain beneath this hair and a heart beneath these boobs" - Dolly Parton

As you can see, genetics were quite kind to me in the bust department. Although on my more cynical days, I think they're a case of "too much of a good thing". Don't believe me? Well, we will just have to see about that.

Once upon a time, there was a nine year-old girl with a dream to become a professional gymnast. She wanted the glory, the recognition, the ability to travel the world. She had practiced as much as her mother would allow since she was small. Before her eleventh birthday, she would win several regional competitions and place at the state-level. Then along came puberty. At age 13, wearing a 32B and showing no signs of stopping, she was told that she did not have the "appropriate figure" to compete. Crushed, she left competitive gymnastics for good a few months short of turning 15.

I don't look back on that period of time fondly, even if it was over six years ago. I had never hated my body until then and probably would have delved into Anorexia had my mom not been on the lookout. Even with her making sure that I stopped before I got to that point, I still cursed my body with everything I had. Especially my breasts.

It was early in the summer of 2003 and I had gone shopping with my older sisters in Greenville, NC. We were walking out of Bath & Body Works when a sharp-dressed woman stopped us to ask if we would be interested in modeling. I didn't stay in it in long, but I have to admit it did rebuild my confidence in my appearance. Plus, what kind of girl would I be if I had turned down getting paid to play dress-up?

Now it's October of 2008. I'm a nursing student at Duke University, with a three (soon to be four) year-old daughter in tow. Let me repeat that, Duke University. I graduated from high school pretty damn high in the pack, not as much as say Kendall or The Bait but still impressive. Did I mention that my tuition at Duke is fully paid for because of the GPA I maintained at the community college I went to in order to save money? So, with all that in mind, will someone please tell me why I'm treated like a bimbo so often?

A recent example would be going to pick Daybreak up from the day care center last Friday. I had just gotten out of a seminar, still dressed in a business suit with power pumps and all, when I notice my gas light has popped on. I go to the Kangaroo and as I want something to drink, I go inside to pay. These two old men (I'd say they were in their early to mid-60's) were talking about Sarah Palin. I passively listen to them as I find a diet coke and make my way to the cashier when one of the men notice that I seem to be listening and nudges his buddy.

Man: All the while, staring right at my chest "Hey Earl, that little priss is listening like she understands anything about what goes on the world. What's the world coming to these days? Pretty girls like her just don't know their place anymore."

His buddy, Earl, laughs himself into a coughing fit.

It took every ounce of patience and self-restraint I possessed not to verbally castrate them. In my head, I could hear my mother telling me to be polite to my elders like a mantra. After a few moments, I calmed myself and left.

I really fucking hate stereotypes. I may love my boobs now, but dang if they're not more trouble than they're worth at times.

Sincerely, The Talented Miss Eva

Poo On Them!

Yesterday was supposed to be a fun day of me spending time with Eva and Daybreak. Walk to go see Igor as the theatre is only four blocks from their apartment and then go to Ben & Jerry's. The movie was funny and Daybreak has now asked for a stuffed version of Igor for her birthday.

It was a nice scene. Daybreak was holding our hands with me and Eva on either side of her. Me and Daybreak were talking about what flavour of ice cream was better, strawberry or chocolate. Just as I am getting her around to the wonders of strawberry, Eva breaks in with this line:

"There is nothing like vanilla ice cream on hot apple pie."

Green eyes meet brown and we came to an accord. Vanilla was clearly superior this day.

Now I've learned something about Daybreak. Even if she has her own food, she will want some of yours. If you deny her, then she will get creative about it. She was trying to lick some of Eva's vanilla cone when she stopped and looked at her mom like she had a question.

She starts looking at the table more than us and slowly asks a question that broke my heart to hear.

"Mommy, what's a nigar lover?"

Eva turns wide eyes to me and I slowly try to reboot my brain from its 404. I was praying in my head that I heard her incorrectly. So I ask where she heard that.

She tells us how during the movie, she heard these two old harpies talking about how wrong it was for a sambo and his trashy nigger lover to be together. These were not her exact words but they were close enough that we both understand what those women had meant.

We had to explain to a child, not even four years-old yet, that some people would not like me and her mom together.

Daybreak: So people don't like you and Papa together because Papa's black?
Me: Sadly, yes.
Daybreak: But isn't it good that you, Mommy, and me aren't all the same? It makes us not boring. They shouldn't call you names.
Eva: Yes it does Sweetie.
Daybreak: Grandma likes you and Papa. Aunties Three like him. Why don't other people?
Me: Because they're blind.
Daybreak: Well poo on them!

She then proceeds to crawl into my lap and give me a very sticky ice cream kiss on the cheek. Turning to face the rest of the shop, sh proclaims she loves her Papa and that anyone who didn't like it could go eat poo. Please note that this was at the top of her lungs.

One older woman actually came up to us and said we were raising a very smart child who other people could learn from. Eva looks right at me and says, "yes we are." The rest of the night passed without incident.

As she was helping me make breakfast for Eva, she looked up from the pancake batter she was mixing and said that she hoped one day people could be happy for me and Eva like she was.

I love the way children think.