My Brothers Keeper

I always wanted a brother. An older brother, someone I could share secrets with and be close to. Someone to teach me the ropes and protect me. I envied the girls who grew up next door to me because they had an older brother. He was for the most part nice to them, and he was nice to me. He was murdered when he was 18 - and I remember sitting outside crying with his sisters and thinking he was the closest thing I had to a brother, and he was gone.

Since I didn't grow up with a brother I have been behind the curve on men. I'm fascinated by them in a way that women who grew up with brothers are not. I was grown before I realized that this fascination was not shared by all women. When I was a little girl I liked to play with boys and hang around them. I liked to watch the way the interact with each other. My grade school teacher advised my mother that I was playing like a "tomboy" with the boys, and I was beginning to develop - so I should stop. My mother concurred. I was heartbroken. I had no boys to play with at home, how would I learn about them. Why was playing with them taboo?

Between middle school and high school I must have had twenty boyfriends. Not because I was fast, or easy. But because I liked and wanted to be with boys so much I would agree to "go with" any boy who asked me, when I should have just been their friends. Those relationships lasted for about a week, and most times didn't even result in a kiss. (I'm sure they were disappointed that I wasn't fast.)

When I was twenty-one I married my high school sweetheart. He was my "first" everything. I was faithful even though he was not, and I was in no rush to sleep with other guys. But I did miss them. I wanted to be around them again. There is something about the energy men give off. The way they smell, talk and move. It's wonderful - and I'm still in awe of them in some ways.

I've made some lasting and not so lasting friendships with men over the years. I like to think of them as my surrogate brothers. I've learned a lot from them and I'm still learning from my surrogate blog brothers, Zed, West and James (see side bar). Things that girls with brothers learn early on. They learn that guys lie, even good guys. That some guys are good and some are bad. That sometimes good guys do bad stuff, and that sometimes bad guys do good stuff. That sex does not mean love to men, and that guys think totally different from women. One of the most important things I've learned from them is that "it's not personal." I tend to take everything personally.

So, thanks to all my surrogate brothers. Thanks for teaching me. Thanks for being my keeper.

Mood Swingin'

Depression is a em-effer! It is the bane of my existence and I would not wish it on my worse enemy. (Because my worse enemy already has it : ) You know who you are!)

I'm talking about real depression here, the clinically diagnosed shit, not just feeling blue from time to time. The shit that makes you cry all freaking day, stay in bed, stare at the ceiling and pray for a huge boulder to drop through said ceiling and remove you from your misery. That's the shit I've been cursed with. I was diagnosed years ago and I'm compliant with my "crazy pills," as Tipsy calls them. When I'm tripping she asks me, "Did you get your crazy pills refilled?" and I tell her to jump off the nearest cliff - which means no, I did not get them refilled and shut the hell up.

I recently turned forty and I can't get my body to do stuff it used to do with ease. Like lose weight. I can't get it to do other stuff either, but mostly lose weight. I'd been feeling sluggish and bloated and I couldn't kick it no matter what I did. So, I decided to explore the possibility that one or all of the medications I take is causing the puffiness and feeling of "just fuck it". I have high blood pressure as a side dish to the depression, and to round off the value meal of bad health, I have one more thing I can't bring myself to say here. It involves a C-Pap machine. That's all I'm going to say about that. Anyway, my crazy, even with crazy pill mind told me - "Stop taking all of this shit and figure out what's causing you to feel like shit!" I said, "Okay crazy mind, that sounds like a good idea." Please note, when you are crazy, the crazy advice your mind gives you always seems like a good idea. Bad move. Well kind of.

I stopped taking the meds for high blood pressure, lowered my sodium intake, ate less, drank more water and I began to feel better. The swelling began to go down a bit - leaving me looking my usual fluffy (fat) self, and no longer fluffy and puffy. Physically I felt better. Mentally, I'm not sure what I felt. But, my crazy mind chimed right in, "See, don't take that other shit either, it might be making you fat too, and who needs that!" Again, I listened to my crazy mind and refrained from taking the meds for depression that I so desperately need.

So, here we are, almost three weeks into the no crazy pills - and it is not looking good. One minute I'm okay, not great but okay. The next minute I'm crying and thinking about every single sad thing that has ever happened in my whole goddamned life! After that I'm good, I start thinking about how blessed I am and how everything is going to be just fine. These cycles repeat themselves. This my friends is de-fucking-pression.

I have had the script called in to my pharmacy and I will be there post haste to pick it up.

P.S. I will probably regret sharing all of this when the crazy pills have taken effect. But right now I'm going with the crazy mind that said, "Fuck it - write about that shit if you want to."

Monday Mourning

I like to sleep. No, I love to sleep. Cat naps, long naps, hibernation - sleep in any form is good. With that said, I need to file some type of complaint about my damn loss of an hour of the thing I love most. Sleep. I'm sure some white person who works 2 hours, 2 days a week - came up with this day light savings time shit! I wish I see his ass. I will bite the shit out of him! I want to go to sleep so bad.

Of course I was late to the Plantation. But, I am here. I thought about calling off- but I did not. Not because I am a good employee/slave, but because I don't have even one hour of PTO, and I am B. R.O.K.E. I must work the 80 hours necessary to remain broke, but not homeless. However, work-wife, partner in crime, naive white lady co-worker called off today. So, I'm on the only field hand on the Plantation. Not good. The contact in my left eye is doing this thing where it slides up to the top of my eyeball at 7 minute intervals. I'm as blind as a bat without my contacts. Guess what I feel compelled to do when I can't see clearly? Go to effen sleep!

I have a sociology final tomorrow that I intended to study for on the sly (covered for by work-wife, partner in crime, naive white lady co-worker). This plan has been shot to hell by her absence and the floating contact problem. I sit an "L" shaped desk here on the Plantation. I'm toying with the idea of crawling underneath it, and taking a short nap in the crook of the "L." If I could find a way not to snore I would do it. I promise I would. Since I am unable to control my loud snoring(usually accompanied by snorting and moaning) I'll try not to get underneath the desk.

Maybe I could just lie down in the middle of the floor and pretend I've passed out. I could say, upon being awakened by the Overseer, "I must have passed out, and then fallen asleep. I promise I'll get that checked out." I'm sure this plan won't look so good in retrospect, but right now it looks pretty good.

Good night.

Angie's Life - The Soundtrack Part 3

Old post I decided to finish.

The one the only Bobby Womack !

I have always been an old soul. I like older music and older men. So - Bobby Womack speaks to me. I like his swagger. He acts like he's the most handsome man in the world, even though he's not. He has confidence. Women like that. We like it a lot. Not over confidence mind you - just confidence in the right dose.

Bobby knows women - and he talks to us like he knows us. If men would take the time to get a PHD in their women everyone would be happier. But I digress. Back to Bobby. I didn't just discover him - he's been with me for a long time now. He says things that make you want to turn the lights down, drink dark liquor, and take your panties off.

Let me try to explain my fixation with Bobby Womack. I'm a Southern girl, a Pisces with daddy issues. I'm attracted to strong men. Men you know better than to get involved with, but you do it anyway. Men who spit game like Bobby's lyrics -but you don't know it's game, because he's that good or because you don't want to know.

Bobby's been spitting his particular brand of game to me since I was a teenager, and I'm not tired of him yet.

In I Wish He Didn't Trust Me So Much he's talking about how he's in love with his friends wife. Not good right? But get this, he spins it! In the end it's his friends fault for trusting him too much. You gotta love that!

You're Welcome, Stop On By, is an invitation to a married or otherwise engaged woman to feel free to come on over to his place. He tells her he's there for her, however, he's getting a little tired of being "that second guy." Mind you, he's not tired enough to stop - he's just putting that out there so she thinks he wants something more. Psych!

I could go on, and on but I'll stop at my favorite. Woman's Gotta Have It He pretends to be talking to men on this one. Telling them how to get, and keep us - that we have to have it. Fir good measure he throws in, "Give her what she wants, when she wants it, where she wants it and how she wants it." Now in reality Bobby is speaking to us, to women. He's letting us know that he knows us. He knows what we need, and he can give it - when, where, and how we want it. Works for me!

So when Bobby's on the Southern girl in me sashays her hips, the Pisces slips on the rose colored glasses, and the daddy's girl is reminded of her father.

*Head nodding, sipping from glass - Sing it Bobby!