The Adventures of Chubby Chocolate

Miriam Makeba - Pata Pata

2008-11-10T09:52:00.001-08:00

R.I.P. Mama Africa

EFFECTS OF PMS

2008-11-03T22:13:00.000-08:00

Chubby grocery list:

- Ritters Sport chocolate covered biscuit x 2
- Tampons
- Extra Strength Motrin
- Fruity Pebbeles cereal
- Strawberry milk
- Frozen chicken BBQ pizza
- Cinnamon Rolls

YOU CAN..

2008-05-22T22:41:00.001-07:00

To the woman in the next bathroom stall, making snide remarks about the odor coming from my stall-You're doing the same thing, yet your nostrils have drawn the conclusion that your shit don't stink.

Then you exit your stall, put lipstick on and don't bother to wash your hands?

...KICK ROCKS, BEE-YATCH.

RUMMAGE SALE

2008-04-26T20:16:00.000-07:00

I spent Saturday afternoon assisting my parents with their garage sale. My retired father decided to clean out the storage shed-A tactic to distract him from partaking in one of his DUI binges (he's going on 1.5 years sober). I rolled up late, due to last nights romp and found that he already strategically placed items on small tables in the driveway. After surveying the scattered items, I found some of my old X-mas gifts and placed them in my car trunk.

Here's what I salvaged:

$5: I was so pissed when I opened the box and saw this thing. I can still hear my mother's thick British accent telling me it was the perfect gift because I brought home the third place ribbon in my classroom spelling bee contest and I should've been first. My twin brother got Speak n Math. When we got the hang of them, we were hooked. My parents would find them clinched in our arms when they woke us up in the mornings. I snuck it to school and got caught. My father had to leave work early to retrieve it from my teacher. Got a whooping for it but didn't care, because he gave it back to me when he was done. When I got bored with it, I would press the games menu button repeatedly to make a song from the computer voice.

$20: Cabbage Patch Kids were selling out at every Toy's R Us and Consumers Retail store in the Bay Area. They were limiting sales to one per person. News covered the craze and showed folks fighting over the dolls. I made myself write 100 lines and presented the pages to my parents to show how determined I was at being a good girl.

I will not suck my thumb.
I will not suck my thumb.

I will not suck my thumb.

When I left the room, I heard them snickering.

We would all go on weekend treks to various stores in search of the rare Black CPK doll. When we couldn't find one, my parents would call doll stores in the yellow pages. They had become more obsessed than me. One night during the week, my mother picked us up from after school day care and headed straight to a Consumer's store in San Leandro. The deviation from our weekday norm felt like we were on an adventure. There were three dolls left. I was so desperate to have one that I tried to convince my mother that one of them was mixed. "She's just light-skin-ded, muh-mah..." She was not having it. They finally found one, two days before X-mas at a small doll collectors boutique in San Ramon (all white and racist town back in the 80s). I clearly recall the owner telling my parents that his distributors sent him a Black CPK by mistake, so he tossed it in the back of his store and forgot about it. He sold it to my parents for twice the retail price. That was the first X-mas, my mother didn't bother wrapping my gift. The name on her birth certificate was Aubrey Skipper. I sent in the form to have her name changed to Dominique.

$15: Winter of 1984, I won two piano recital awards. Herbie Hancock's, Rock It had won a Grammy and was in heavy rotation on the radio. All I wanted that year was a Casio sampling keyboard. My parents thought it would deter me from traditional piano, so they were against it. When my mother made her monthly trip to Sears, I'd volunteer to push the cart. This was my strategy to steer her towards the electronic section to play on the display keyboards. I would play a rendition of Silent Night that included cymbals, dogs barking with a reggae beat. I would hope to draw a crowd, but no one paid me any mind, except my mother. That X-mas, when I opened the box, I knew I was the luckiest person alive.

In December 1986, my parents moved us out of East Oakland to Hercules. I was in suburban hell. The only two Black girls at my new school didn't know how to turn double dutch ropes and everyone was obsessed with some weird ass game called, tether ball. My father explained to us that we woudn't receive any X-mas gifts that year and the fact that my brother and I no longer shared a room was gift enough. We had no furniture or television in the house, so my brother and I would ball up a piece of paper and play hand tennis with an imaginary line in the family room. When I woke up that X-mas, I found a rainbow colored pen on my new room floor. It had some car dealership info on it. I knew it was from my father. I found the pen at the bottom of a junk box marked, "FREE".

CHUBBY ODDITIES

2008-04-23T21:45:00.000-07:00

When I regularly blogged, I disclosed a little bit too much about myself. But there are some things, I've refrained from sharing....I think. After reading what I just wrote, I'm beginning to think I'm a wee bit off.

MP asked me to join in, so here you go (and I'm not tagging anyone!). In no particular order...

1. NEW PEWN-TANG: I don't like women who try to be my friend. If I haven't met you in high school/college, then I don't want to know you. When I'm at a function, I am the most outgoing, extroverted person in the room. This draws them to me. She'll want to exchange info because I seem like a "fun person to hang out with". I'll then ignore their calls, e-mails, etc. It's not that I don't like you, it's just that...Well, yes, I just don't like you. Unless you have a penis, I don't want to have anything to do with you.

2. ALTERNATIVE METHODS: I'm obsessed with chinese medicine and vitamin supplements. I see an Acupuncturist every week. I drink a smidget of flax seed oil each day so I can piss out estrogen (hormone that promotes the growth of fibroids). Before I leave the house, I take the following pills: Female specific multi-vitamin, fish oil capsule, iron supplement, three different types of Chinese herbs (for the immune system, to prevent high blood pressure and eczema) and I'm sure I'm wasting my money.

3. IN HER SHOES: Whenever I feel myself getting depressed or sad about something going on in my life, I imagine what my life would be like if I were a female living in Sudan and my hang ups become trivial.

4. TMI: I think I have Athlete's Feet.

5. JELLIED EELS & DISTANT THOUGHTS: I love boxing. I LOVE BOXING. I don't know where this stemmed from, but I have a massive boxing match collection, from the early greats to current. If it's a Saturday and Classic ESPN runs a boxing marathon, I will stay on my couch,until it's completely over. My favorite Boxer of all time is Jack Johnson, only because he ignored the idiots who told him to throw fights to ensure a race riot wouldn't ensue if he knocked down his White counterparts. In one such fight he knocks the dude so hard that he not only flies across the ring, but Johnson is seen flicking stuck teeth off his glove. When I'm at the gym, I jump rope like a boxer and pretend as if I'm training for a fight. I have a set of pink boxing gloves and I shadow box in my basement. It's a sad sight to see.

6. ????: If I hold my pee long enough, I have an orgasm.

BELLY FLOP

2008-04-16T22:08:00.001-07:00

I pulled up to the gas station, windows down, sunroof open, music blasting, hair flailing all over the place. I saw him from the corner of my eye and in one milli-second, I processed it all:

That car looks familiar. He looks familiar. Oh shit, it's HIM! I haven't seen him in four years. Thank goodness I put on make-up before I left the house. Be smooth, Chubby. Are those two kids sitting in the backseat? Get out the car slowly and pop your ass out.

He said my complete name, including the middle one. I did the same. "I see you still got them tig ol' bitties..." He was the only man I let talk to me that way. He reminded me of that porno dude, wessly pipes. Loved talking shit.

We made small talk and exchanged numbers. I left for London (I'll blog about that soon) for three weeks and the day after I got back, he called.

"When you gonna give me some cootchie?"
"Give me your address and I'll be there in 40 minutes."

After it was over, we slept in the spooning position. He was snoring in my ear, so I needed to shift. I made a swift move to turn away from him and I heard a clapping sound...It was my belly.
The noise broke his snoring and he lifted his head up....I held my breath and clinched my eyes shut.

"Did you just make your ass clap?"

"uhmmm, yeap."

"I like the sound of that." He plopped his head back on the pillow and went back to snoring.

Thank God the lights were out.

KEEP ON TRUCKIN', CHUBBY

2008-04-15T00:30:00.000-07:00

Seems that I can't stay away.

I receive e-mails from folks asking me to update this blog. I stayed away because I had reached a point in my life, where I didn't have anything to talk about. Just plum ran out of shit to say. Then when I reviewed my last posts of me bitching about trivial shit, I decided to take a step back and take inventory on my life and where I needed to be.

So what did my extended hiatus reveal? Abso-fucking-lutely NADA. I haven't changed one bit and I didn't need to change. Still engaging in random sex acts with miscellaneous stiff ones, still overdrawing my account, still using the occasional swig of Nyquil to curb the insomnia and still bitching about trivial shit.

I'm two years into my 30s now and still in the same state I was when I started this blog. I don't know why I thought my life would change the minute I became an ex-20something, but it's cool though...Each day is another chubby adventure waiting to happen and another opportunity to recruit new penis for the stable....and these are but a few of the incentives that gets me out of the bed each morning.

I'm baaaaa-aaaaack!!!!!!

SHAH-NAY NAY: VERSION 20.07

2007-08-12T14:48:00.000-07:00

Do you have this one person in your circle of friends who you met through a friend of a friend and you can't get rid of them?!

The only reason why she's a part of your crew is because you feel sorry for her and hope that she'll change with each interaction and learn something new. It doesn't matter that she gradauted from an ivy league school and she has a successful career.

She's unrefined. She has no manners. She wears a long blonde ponytail down her back and she twitches her head when she talks to make it fly. She greets you by saying, "What up trick." in this low, breathy, slow growling voice. She even greets her mother like this. Every man is a, "Niggah". She hates them because they don't want to talk to her. She resembles a female version of Ron Isley, only shorter, wider with a Joker like smile spread across her face.

When she laughs, she throws her body back, looks up at the sky, opens her mouth as wide as it will stretch and lets out a loud, thunderous, AHH, HAAAAA, HAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!! Letting the last HAAA trail well over five seconds. No matter what type of venue we're in this is her normal laugh.

When she eats, she sucks in the food. She doesn't take time to breath. Her short, fat stubs for fingers are on a failing mission to get the food to her mouth as quickly as possible. She's in a trance. She loudly moans about how "fucking good this food is" for the people at other tables to hear and they watch her in disgust and make her the center of dinner discussion. She'll order appetizers and tell the rest of us to order our own. Then when the food arrives she targets our food after she sucked up hers. When the bill comes she only puts in a $5 bill.

She once called me up telling me how horny she is and how she'll do me if I were at her house. She pinches my ass when I forget to walk beyond her short arms can reach. She gives me too many compliments about how cute I am and if she were drunk she'd rape me. She constantly asks to borrow my clothes and shoes.

I don't mention any clubs in front her for fear that she'll show up there. I would only see her when we all meet for our monthly dinner, bar & movie.

She has three therapists and is on Zoloft. One time we got into a big arguement because she told me African men resemble monkeys. She later apologized and gave the excuse that she was off her meds.

One Sunday, we all met for brunch and she showed up wearing a "Brunettes are better" shirt with cut off sweat pants and pink flip-flops. She's black with blonde hair. She ends every meal by belching too loud and saying, "Oohhhh, that felt so good. Now I have room for dessert."

She sits with her legs wide open.

She doesn't make an effort to hide the jealousy spewing from her eyes when she stares at you while you're sharing your latest sexcapade.

She sends chain e-mails to my work account that promises to give me 100 years of bad luck if I don't send it back to her.

She tried to get me to hook her up with my brother. When I refused she started showing up at my house....unannounced. She repeated this crass ass move earlier today.

That was my free pass to tell her about herself and get her out of my life.

I could go on and on about her many oddities, but this post is releasing some serious toxic energy.

VOID WEAR PROHIBITED

2007-08-07T12:48:00.000-07:00

I don't want to be 30 anymore.

It would be nice to zip pass this decade and be in my 40s. I'm assuming by then I will either be married with child/ren or living happily alone, fucking younger men and kicking them out my house. I will be focusing on my retirement and/or spending more time traveling...

I'm feeling socially retarted when compared to my "friends". They are married w/kids, or engaged. I can't stand talking on the phone with them because they've turned into these women who become so obsessed with things, I could give a flying fuck about.

"I'm meeting w/ Daria today and we're going to BabyRUs to look at baby strollers. Do you want to come?" Not even a year ago, our conversations were about one night stands, which flavored lube tastes the best and investment accounts.

During the time when I'm just about to fall asleep, the random unproductive thoughts take over and all I think about is this void that I'm feeling. My thoughts are telling me that I'm missing the fact that I don't have a significant other. I'm missing the fact that I'm nowhere near planning for a family. By the time I wake up, I forget about these thoughts and carry on with my usual dilemmas of dick, money, bills, work, sanrgia, food, parents and estate sales.

But today, my random unproductive thoughts decided to stay with me. I was walking to my car after a meeting this morning and I passed by pre.ser.vat.ion park. My initial thought was, "That would be a nice place to have a wedding reception." Then reality hit and I realized, I needed to have someone in order to get married....The look on my face caught an approaching older woman. She looked at me and said, "Don't worry, honey everything is going to be alright."

My friend just called, wanting me to go with her and her fiance to some married couple's house to hang out this evening. Before I could even think, I told her, "No I don't want to hang out with you and your boyfriend. I'm tired of hanging out with you and your man. Why can't it just be you and me? It's like you can't do anything without him. I'm not with anyone right now and it hurts. All of you have someone except me. You're all moving on, getting married, having kids, except me...." I couldn't believe I got it out.

I'm exposing my void. I'm wearing it on my sleeve and using it as an excuse to alienate myself from my "friends"....What a minute. Fuck them! There is absolutely nothing wrong with me, damnit. I'm living my life. That's what I'm doing. So what if they decided to fall prey to society's benchmarks of what a female needs to acquire when she's in her 30s.

I'M NOT NORMAL!

I don't have to follow suit. Fuck them biyatches...I'm walking down my own path.

Whew, I feel much better now: Back to work....

Petey Greene - How to Eat Watermelon (Enhanced)

2007-07-28T23:51:00.001-07:00

Watched the movie last week. Confirmed by unnatural, stalker-like desire for Don Cheadle and introduced me to an east coast legend who has yet to receive props due to him.

CHUBBY PLUS NONE Part Deux

2007-05-27T08:10:00.000-07:00

ARIES HOROSCOPE for Friday, May 25, 2007 (from A#str&olog$y.com)
That saying about all work and no play is truer than you think. The stars say to live it up. And no, that does not mean ordering take-out and watching something different on television. Get outside. Wear something cute.

I guess the planets have aligned.

I decided against the black dress and opted for skin tight black pants,black cleavaged top and the same black shoes. The outfit showed off my hard work in the gym. Curvy bottle shape with curvy thighs to match...PERFECTION!!! Hair was on point, make-up flawless. My head began to gradually inflate as I clicked around the house in my heels.

I crawled by the reggae spot to scope out the length of the line. Windows rolled down blasting, Mr. Vegas. Heads turned. I go to the parking lot next to the club. I notice a guy getting out of his car, watching me park. He decides to wait. He's not my type. I turn the engine off and he greets me with some lame ass line. He doesn't even give me a chance to get out of the car. I nicely inform him that I'm just going out to have fun and I'm not looking for anything else. He continues to walk behind me yelling out crass remarks and I ignore him. I pass by the line to the front and the guard lets me in. Turns out he used to be the guard at another club I used to frequent years ago. My head is on the verge of bursting from the flood of adreneline I've produced from feeling myself.

I pay the fee and am immediately greeted by another guy. Don't know his name, but we were faithful dance partners at the San Francisco reggae spot. He buys me a Malibu w/pineapple juice, I promise him a dance and I head to the outdoor dancefloor. I strut down the hallway slowly to make sure my boobs bounce with every stomp. The hallway was lined up with men using the walls to hold them up. I reach outside and the dancefloor is packed. I greet a couple of people and walk towards the DJ booth. I greet the Dj and the MC and find a spot on the dancefloor.

I spotted the men staring and paid them no mind....I'm lying. I danced my ass off as if I was dancing in front of a mirror. I knew I had an audience. After what seemed like an hour, I felt a hand slide across my waist. I turn around and it's the idiot from the parking lot. His breath smelled like corn chips, beer and onions. His armpits were fronzy. I walked away and found another spot on the floor. I grabbed some random guy and we danced until the hip-hop DJ came. Break time.

I was dripping with sweat and if it weren't for the spanx underneath my pants, I would have surely had a sweat spot on my ass. I head back to the bar and mingle with some more people I know. The idiot pops up from nowhere talking some drunken scramble and he tries to grab me off the bar stool. The guy next to me pushes him off and tells him to chill. He gives me a dirty look, stumbles away. We have three more run ins before the guard kicked him out of the club.

After my third drink, the hip-hop portion ends and the soca begins. I head back to the dancefloor and continued my show. I've never danced so much in eons. I danced by myself, with various people and even on the stage. While dancing, I had already planned to attend the Jr. Kelly concert solo for Saturday and picked out an outfit. 2am arrived and the security guards herd everyone towards the exit. The guy from the bar insists on walking me to my car after witnessing the idiot harassments. We reach my car. Every window was smashed out and there were dents from the front to the back. Every light was smashed and my glove compartment was opened. Papers strewn everywhere. I couldn’t believe it. The guy asked me, “Did that asshole see you get out of your car?” I nodded.

Part of me is thinking that fucking karma lets nothing slide. This must be payback for my shenanigans with the married asshole. But then again, things could’ve been much worse. I spent my Saturday towing the car to a body shop and working with my insurance company to locate a rental car. I decided to not go to the concert. Instead I ordered Thai and watched netflix movies until I fell asleep.

CHUBBY PLUS NONE

2007-05-25T00:09:00.000-07:00

The extended weekend is just about here and my scheduled plans have been botched because all my friends have decided to do something with their boyfriends. It's like the planets have aligned...They all have a significant other except for me. I've got a group of sorry penial beings whom put together don't even equate one man...And none of them are available for a holiday booty call and one of them has invited me to church service...And my fellow blogsphere peeps know how I feel about people inviting me to church.

I'm contemplating venturing out to the clubs by myself this weekend, but I just don't have the balls to do it. My mother has told me of the many times she would frequent the clubs in London on her own when she was my age, but I just can't do it. I'm trying to envision myself in my cute black dress, leggings and 4.5 inch heels, walking into the club, heading to the bar to get a drink. I'll see people I know there, but we're only on a hello & goodbye basis. I can't stick to them. We'll hug and give pecks on the cheek and move on.

After getting my first dose of Malibu rum and diet coke, I'll head outside to the back of the club, to the packed dancefloor. My vision gets cloudy after that. Maybe I'll sit in my car and smoke half a joint before entering. But then I won't be able to walk in my heels.....As I'm typing, I'm working on gaining enough courage to party solo. I'm going to do it. I'm going to do it and I'm going to have fun. Who in the hell am I kidding? Please, Chubby. Grow some balls and get out of the house this weekend.

This better not be a peek into my life this coming summer.

UPDATE!
I drove back to retrieve my car part at about 3am during a weekday. I didn't have eggs, but I did strategically place about 30 condoms on his car with a key scratch clear across his shiny black car...I figure if he's going to sleep around on his wife (who I just discovered existed and resides in Jamaica, but was visiting at the time of said condoms & key scratch) he should be safe.
Some real psycho, childish, petty shit, but it felt DAYUM orgasmic. The rush felt so good it was scary.

THE LAST STRAW

2007-05-13T10:13:00.001-07:00

I'm completely over you. This is the last straw....

The countless times I dialed six of the seven numbers

The countless times I "mistakenly" sent you text message just to see if you'd respond

The countless times I came home from work, took a shower, put on my cute pajamas and a little make-up, hoping you'll stop by unannounced.

The countless times I cooked stew peas with smoke turkey and spinners because I know it's your favorite.

The countless times I showed up at the club with my not so cute friends, so I could run into your friends, who would hopefully go back and report to you about how good I looked.

The countless times I leaked information to your friends, hoping they would share the information with you.

The countless times I fucked the men in my stable, closed my eyes and pretended they were you.

The countless times I made sure I wasn't on the phone, just to make sure the line was open for you to call...Regardless of the fact that I have call waiting.

The countless times I would slow down or speed up just to get next to every black BMW 745 on the road to make sure it was you...and if was you to make sure there wasn't a women sitting where I'm supposed to be.

The countless times I drove by your house, hoping to catch a glimpse of you...

But yesterday was the last time. I'm compleltely over you and that was the last straw.

As I drove by your house yesterday, I was so fixated on looking through your windows that I didn't see the curb. A piece of my bumper is lying on the street less than 50 feet from your house. Now I'm sitting in a Wheelworks getting my front right tire replaced and I can't report the scratch on my bumper because last month I reported a dent so I could get the money and use that to pay my $1500 vehicle registration fee. I want to drive back to your place to reclaim the piece so I won't have to pay for it, but I don't want to drive by your house anymore.
That was the last straw. Make me wreck my Mercedes and can't report the damage for your no calling, wanna-be player, male whore ass.

The next time I drive by your house, I'll have eggs.

SHIT IS SHIT

2007-03-27T19:37:00.000-07:00

No adventures to report.

I'm starting the countdown to my 31st, birthday and I've been seriously irresponsible with my funds. I have cute clothes, shoes and things, with maxed out credit cards, a soon to be expired vehicle registration sticker on a Mercedes with a couple of miles left until the warranty wears out.

I've been clubbing in the middle of the week, neglecting work, skipping meetings and avoiding housecleaning until one hour before company arrives. I have a villa in Jamaica that's sucking up money and I don't have the energy or drive to go through the process of selling it, so I've decided if it takes years to complete it then years it will have to take.

I've been seeing a personal trainer for the past two months and he's more than I can afford, but my body is looking better than ever, so I find a way to pay him for the six weekly hours of his hot, stinky breath in my face, yelling at me to do 50 more sit-ups. I'm trying to keep my word and pride, by not calling him, even though I told him not to call me anymore and lose my number. He's all I think about right before I grab Oscar from my nightstand or turn down some random guy at the club. I wear make-up and make sure my hair is on point, just in case I run into him while out on the road. I've already conjured up a plan if I don't hear from him by my deadline of two weeks. I'll call him and pretend as if I meant to call someone else and strike up a conversation. I've eliminated all gutter dicks and stable warmers for him and I don't want to recruit anymore penis for the spring/summer.

My mother wants to retire at the end of the year and I want to throw her a big party and send her on a trip to visit our family in London, but I can't even afford to put gas in my car.

This is not how I envisioned my life to be at 31. My head was filled with images of a woman. A grown ass woman. I feel like a 20 something who could care less about the future, my 401k or my credit score. I'll be on vacation for one week for my birthday and I'll be stuck in the house with netflix movies, bottles of ginger wine and cake because I can't afford to do anything else.

Even though my shit is all out of wack, I know there is someone out there who is feeling as shitty as me multiplied by 1 million. I'm not the only one with a pile of shit on my plate and compared to others my shit is hard and piled in a nice stack instead of that watery shit, running off the sides of the plate. But shit is shit, no matter how you weigh it and I guess life wouldn't be worth living if we didn't have a stack of it to balance and juggle.

UGLY NATURE

2007-03-13T16:45:00.000-07:00

Been a while, etc. etc....

It seems that my blog has morphed into a place where I can purge my shitty thoughts... I just started a myspace page today, due to peer pressure. We'll see how long it will take for the novelty to wear off (If we blog know each other, send me an e-mail and I'll send you my link).

I have a friend who I let poke me every once in a blue moon. We talk just about everyday and he's more like a girlfriend than a guyfriend with benefits. He knows me very well and he even hooked me up with the guy I'm currently seeing (soooo need to tell that story, will get to it.).
He keeps his mouth shut and is so easy to get along with. I met his wife and everything.....

He's doing some remodeling work at my parents house. About 30 minutes ago, my father calls me to say that he brought a girl with him and she's watching him work. My father's pissed and rightfully so because he has no idea who this person is and it's not professional. Instead of informing him, he calls me at work telling me about. Then he says, "Don't tell him I told you about it."

For some odd reason. I get pissed. Who in the hell did he bring to my parents house? It's not his wife obviously and how could he be so damn stupid to even reach the conclusion that it would be ok to do something like that? It's my parents house. What makes him think I wouldn't find out about it? So I call him:

Chubby: My father just called and he says you have a visitor with you. She needs to leave.

Idiot: She just wants to see the work that I do because she's interested in getting work done on her house.

Chubby: Wrong answer. You just started today, so there's nothing for her to see but torn down walls. Get her out of my parents house and do it now.

Idiot: Ok, I will.

Chubby: Wrong fucking move, Idiot.

Idiot: I'm getting her out now.

My father then calls me back and says, "He just left with her and claims he needs to go to Home Depot to get something." I let him know that I spoke to him about it and it won't happen again. He's now angry at me for telling him and accusing me of going behind his back and all this crap.

I could care less that my father is mad. I'm pissed at Idiot for parading some tart with him at my parents house and I'm pissed at myself for being so jealous about it. Oh, shit. Am I jealous?! I'm fucking jealous! I can't believe I'm jealous. I'm jealous. Jealous. I hate that word.

Now it's going to be odd the next time I speak with him. I'll direct the tension to the fact that he was unprofessional. That's what I'll do. Then I'll make up some story about how my parents had someone steal something from their house the last time a construction guy brought a friend over and that will pacify my father for feeling like he has no backbone to tell Idiot in the first place. Then everyone will be ok and I can mask my jealousy with lies and defelection.

He will never get another poke ever again in life.

KHARMA, BIYATCH!!

2007-02-23T23:03:00.001-08:00

I've spent the last month reading every single post I've typed and I can't believe I'm going to be 3o plus one in a couple of months. I really have no new insight or epiphanies about myself, my life or about how I want or should live it. The only thing that might have changed about me is that I've stopped trying to dilute my personality. I'm speaking my mind more, I'm not afraid to look silly.

I was trying to change the pic on my profile, but I can't download my pic...Someone, please let me know how I get my picture online so I can download it.

Anyway, a few months before spring and my stable is completely dry. My last sexual adventure happened before I left for Belize. I've stopped shaving and lotioning my legs. That's how bad it's gotten. My legs looks like I've been dipped in flour with black pepper. I'll go into detail about my last sexual Chubby adventure soon, I promise. I blogged today to get something off my chest. I'm feeling a bit guilty about doing it, so I need to e-confess.

I'm in a compact and crowded parking lot, looking for a place to park. I find a spot and I put on my blinker, signaling to approaching cars. I position my car to back it in the spot and the car behind me blocks my car from getting in. Then he proceeds to honk at me to get out of his way. He gives me the finger and is shouting out all kinds of bitch, fuck you's and such. I recite my stupid people mantra, "Don't sweat the small stuff, Chubby. Don't sweat the small stuff, Chubby..." and drive off. I find a parking spot and proceed with my errands.

When leaving the store, I felt myself getting warm and angry. "Who in the hell was he to do that? He needs to experience some type of negative consequence for his actions. He can't just get away with what he did. There's no way in hell I'm letting him go about the rest of the day feeling that he bullied me. He needs to pay for his actions and the only way for him to pay is to experience something just as negative as what he did.....I'm horny and pissed that it's Friday night and the only thing I have to look forward to are my Netflix movies. He needs to learn that he can't do something like that to a person he knows nothing about.

I pulled out my pocket knife and commenced to scratching the shit out of his car. Clear across the drivers side. I've never done something like that before. It felt soooooooo good. I got into my car and sped off with a devilish grin. Then I realized something. What will be my consequence for what I did?

TIKAL, FATTY PILLOWS & THE GOLF CART RIDE OF SHAME

2007-01-12T00:54:00.000-08:00

PARTE DOS

We arrived in San Ignacio, Belize for two nights.

The day trip to Tikal Guatemala cost $136 per person. I couldn't believe it. The man at the front desk of the hotel looked me right in the eye, explaining that breakfast and lunch was included in the package-Why he had to assure me of this was beyond me, but my belly was very thankful to hear it.

We reached the National Park for the Mayan Ruin tour and began the six mile trek. I do the AIDS Walk for the past four years, so I figure this will be a walk in the park. Our group consists of my friend and I and a couple from Texas. In the middle of the fifth mile and after walking up two of the countless stairs from two ruins, the hard rain pours down. It doesn't bother me because I was dripping in sweat, and needed to be cooled off. By the last half of the sixth mile, I lost my group, trailing behind, cursing up a storm. There was no escape from the puddles and the slick sandy ground made me slip with every other step. Other groups were passing me by. Occassionally someone would pat me on my shoulder and say something in Spanish. I guess they felt sorry for me. One woman said, "Go Soul Sista, go!" I cracked a fake smile and kept huffing and puffing. My friend slowed down to catch up with me and began to secretly tape my lagging, cussing, slipping rant (I'll e-mail the clip to blog folks that I know). I heard her snickering and decided to give her the silent treatment on the way back to the hotel.

The next morning, we pay way too much money for a two hour cab ride to Belize City for a water taxi to San Pedro. He was a Garifuna (Black) and he begged us to let him stop by his son's job so I can meet him. We declined and he was quiet for the rest of the trip. I snored the hour on the water taxi and a little Mayan girl woke me up when we reached the small island. I gave her a dollar bill and she grabbed my hand and kissed it. We caught a taxi to the hotel, which was a waste of money because it was a five minute walk.

That night we hit the only club opened. As soon as I walked in the club, I spotted him-Tall, lanky and dark. We made eye contact and he smiled, showing his perfect white teeth. Another guy grabbed me and we started dancing. I turned my back to him, giving him ass while staring at the cute guy. The club closed at 2am and the after party was at another club further down the beach. His name was Miles and he escorted us to the venue. He claimed to be the islands star boxer and he worked at some resort. He was 27.

The third night on the island, I ran into Miles again at the club of the night. It was dead and I occupied my time explaining to a guy why some people in America can live in a house by themselves and not invite other family members to live with them. Miles pulled me from my conversation and asked, "Want to go outside and talk?"

We went out on the beach and went at it. People were walking by, cheering him on by name and telling us to get a room. We decided to go back to his place which was on the other end of the island. We hopped in his golf cart (that's how small the island is) and headed to his place.
After the first round, he popped in a VHS tape of his most recent boxing match. We watched the same damn match for a little over an hour. He kept pausing, rewinding, fast forwarding, talking to the tv screen, cheering himself....He looked at me and said, "Yeah, you hear that music playing? That's me he's singing about." It was Eye of the Tiger. When he was finished singing the song, I told him I needed to get back to my friend, who I ditched at the club. It was 4am and there was no way in hell, I was going to watch another minute of this damn tape.

We had two more rounds of alright sex and went to sleep. I would fall asleep and jerk awake. I did this about three more times before I realized, Miles kept nudging me everytime I started snoring. Punk ass. Just for that, I let him rest his head on my breasts while he was sleeping and started snoring in his ear. It was either sleep on your pillow and hear me snore or sleep on my pillows and hear me snore louder. He stopped nudging me and let me snore in peace.

At 8am, we get into his golf cart and that seemed like the longest damn ride in my life. People we'd seen on the beach were now walking to work or sitting on their porches. They were all cheering Miles and he was smiling and giving folks the peace sign and pumping his fist in the air. I felt like a piece of tree stump he pissed on and he was showing off his work. Why don't golf carts have windows?! I held on and hung my head down in embarassment. He dropped me off in front of my hotel. The woman at the front desk shot me a nasty look, knowing what took place as I strolled in with yesterday's clothes and raccoon eyes that announced the fact that I hadn't taken a shower. I didn't have my hotel key and I had to approach the desk to have her open my room. Completely humiliating.

By the time we left the island, I knew just about every Black person and I made one guys dreams come true (last two pics below). It's amazing how one reacts to two balls of fat, protruding from ones chest. I'm off to Jamaica again. If anything juicy happens, I'll share!

His hands down my shirt

YOU BETTA BELIZE IT!!!

2007-01-09T13:31:00.000-08:00

It’s been just about two weeks and my dark chocolate tan has long faded, the mosquito and sand fly bites have subsided and I’m still trying to remember that guy’s name from Placencia. All I remember was the hard curve his dick had made it very hard to mount. Too much happened there and I’m going to try and get as much out before I leave for JA this weekend. I’ve typed up the entry below the day after I got back and I didn’t want to post it until I caught up with other folks blogs…But as you can probably tell, I haven’t ventured past my own, so I’ll finally post this and get to everyone else later.

Sidebar: When I got back from Belize on x-mas eve, I had the young girl (I mentioned in previous posts) staying with me for one week. My boss has adopted her, but planned a trip before obtaining her so I offered to have her stay with me. It wasn’t bad at all however it made me realize how impatient and selfish I am. For New Years Eve, we rented movies, ordered pizza and I invited one of her friends to spend the night. The girl was 14 years old. We had a frank talk about her sex life. She was having trouble with her 20 year old boyfriend and she was considering leaving him because she found out he was sleeping with her cousin.

“I’m not sure if I want to leave him because we’ve been together for so long and I don’t want to have too many partners before I get married.”

“Well, how many guys have you slept with already?”

“Eleven.”

I rang in 2007 talking to two 14 year old girls about dating older guys, sex, condoms and STDs.

So here’s part one of my Belize/Guatemala adventure…..

PARTE UNO
We walk down the stairs from the airplane and follow the lines that lead us to customs. I make eye contact with every Black face I see with a dick to see their reaction to my cleavage line. They all look in amazement and spread their lips, exposing their teeth (Why do so many Belizean men have that one gold filling at the top of their front teeth?). We pay for a plane ticket for the one hour ride to Placencia. We walk back out to the land strip and there’s a line of 10 four-passenger Cessnas.

The sweat comes, pouring down my face and fucks up my make-up. We climb up the three fold out stairs and I eye the pilot. He’s wearing a dingy white tank top with baggy jeans. The only thing I could think of was, where’s his captains hat? He’s munching on dried banana chips and watching me fail at putting on my seat belt. It won’t fit across my damn hips. He steps to me, looks down my shirt and tells me, “You have to move to the other side of the plane. There’s too much weight on this side.” The other two passengers, including my friend give me this look as if to say, “You better do as he says, we don’t want this plane to crash.” I get up and move to the other side.

He makes three stops before reaching our destination. We were the only two passengers left for the last stop, so he decided to practice his aerial moves before landing. I threw up Granny Smith apple chunks and raw almonds on the back of his seat. Wish I could watch the look on his face when he cleans it up. We reach the small airport strip and wait for the resort van to pick us up. I talk with the man behind the counter. He tells me there’s not a lot of nightlife, but the annual Mistletoe Ball is being held tomorrow and there was going to be a live punta rock band. Needless to say I spent the next three days in this hammock, snoring with Gus in my ears and the two nights in my hotel room with the guy behind the counter. I still can’t remember his name. The next morning @ 5am, we hopped on the public bus for the three hour ride to San Ignacio. Before I left I made the cook take a picture with me. He can fry the hell out of some dough.

Next adventure is Tikal, Guatemala.

RANDOM ACTS OF CHUBBY

2006-11-15T21:45:00.000-08:00

There's so much I want to share that occurred while I was away from the blogsphere, but I don't know where to begin. I'll start by what comes to mind and give them in snippets. They're not anything spectacular, but just small happenings, that I know only my blog family will appreciate.

I was on the elliptical at the gym minding my own business and this woman gets on the machine next to me and starts staring at me. She's slender, wearing make-up, matching workout fit and her hair looks like she hot curled it in the gym bathroom. I try to ignore her. I pumped up Gus, listening to Vybz Kartel's version of Hot Fuk. I had on black sweatpants, a beat up Stonybrook college t-shirt with a scarf and huge sweat rings on my back, neck, and ass crack.
I was well into 40 minutes on the machine and shooting for an hour. I could see her from my peripheral view looking at my time, then giving me the once over, then looking at her machine. She got off about five minutes later and I continued. I go to the sauna and she's there. I stay in for my usual 10 minutes and she follows me out. I get the feeling she wants to say something to me so I turn around and look her in the eye. This is what the bitch tells me:

"I couldn't believe you stayed on the elliptical for so long. I tried to hang in there with you. I told myself, if SHE could do it, I sure can, but you kept going and I was getting tired. Good for you. You should be very proud of yourself." I cracked a fake smile and walked away. I saw her yesterday and she got on the elliptical next to me, waving and smiling. I smiled back. I then released a potent, broccoli and brown chicken with garlic, silent but deadly and waited for her smile to turn upside down.

For a brief moment, I was really getting hooked on gutter dicks. Envision An Interview with a Vampire-When they thought Lestat was dead, but he survived on the swamp rats to maintain...that was me during my depressive rut-Minus the sucking though. On one rendezvous, we finally ended up in my bedroom, after his boring conversation about how busy it gets working at a certain local fastfood joint (Blah, I know you know which one I'm talking about!) and how he was happy to get his promotion as Shift Manager. I made the mistake of drowning out his voice with half a bottle of ginger wine, so I was feeling exceptionally tipsy.

So we're on the bed, doing the warm up stuff and I realize I've left Oscar underneath my pillow-The pillow his head was lying on. Usually, I wouldn't mind, but he's a gutter dick. These specific species aren't very sexually evolved. He would see Oscar as an opportunity to finally be in the presence of a woman having an orgasm, instead of using it for foreplay. I switched foreplay positions and made what I thought was a quick move. My drunk ass grabbed Oscar and threw him on the other end of the bed...I thought I threw it on my nightstand. It switched on and started buzzing. I thought the vibration was my cat jumping on the bed.

"I have to get my cat out of the room."
He ignored me and continued slobbering my nipples.
"You want her to skin your ass while we're humping?"
Gutter dick: I saw this porno where this lady got a cat to lick her by putting milk on it (the clit, I'm assuming. You know they possess a limited vocab) and the guy was giving it to her in the ass. I mean, the cat's here..."

I undimmed the lights and saw it was Oscar. Gutter dick got excited and begged me to use it. Something clicked in my brain and I realized, I could get more satisfaction from a battery operated device than a warm blooded body with an attached hard penis. I got him out of my house and into to my car so fast (to drop his no car ass off at the bart station) that I wore one tennis shoe and one sandal.

After I dropped him off, I went to a 24 hour Walgreens to get chocolate & batteries. While standing in line, the security guard was gawking at me. My conceited ass thought he was enjoying the view. When I was digging in my purse to pay, I caught a glimpse of my tennis shoe and sandal. The dots connected and I looked at the Security Guard. He was laughing so hard from the look I had on my face that he had to lean against stack of baskets. I stuck my nose in the air and walked out as if I'd meant to do it.

That was night I cut off my supply of all gutter dicks.

DREAM COME TRUE

2006-11-13T18:54:00.000-08:00

The first storm of the season has arrived, so I'm hibernating in the house.

I can't read other blogger pages since I "upgraded" my blogger account. Someone please tell me what I'm doing wrong. My friend is trying to convince me to do a week long detox diet. I started it and was doing well. Two granny smith apples, a pomegranate, 24 oz of water and two cups of herbal tea. When I got home, I chomped down some cheez its, a chocolate mousse canoli and I'm waiting for my thai food to be delivered. I'm a very bossy person. I like to be in control. How in the hell did she expect me to follow a strict diet for seven days? Not happening. She just called me and told me she's been bitchy all day because she's so hungry. I told her the detox diet is going very well for me and I have no cravings.

Last week, I saw the Brand New Heavies at the Mezanine in the city. They are my favorite band of all time (Jamiroquai and The Roots are tied). When the doors opened, I reserved my spot, middle front stage. I hid my digital camera underneath my right boob, my first BNH cassette underneath my left boob and waited for them to grace the stage. The place packed quick, which was astonishing to me, being that it was almost 10pm on a Wednesday. After some crappy band performed, the lights dimmed and it was time.

N'dea walked out in true diva form. The milli-second her mouth opened to sing, I began yelling the bars right along with her. I didn't realize how loud I was until N'dea looked down at me with a puzzled, but flattered look. She winked at me and continued singing. By the fourth song, I noticed the crowd around me had given me extra space. Andrew (bass guitar) kept giving me looks every now and then, giving me a thumbs up while plucking the guitar. I snapped out of my BNH trance and realized, I was jumping up and down with my hands flailing over my head and singing at the top of my lungs.

During the brief intermission, a tall, older White guy tapped me on the shoulder and started telling me about how he's been following the band all over the country. "I just got back from Atlanta and then I'm off to Vegas..." I thought I was a die hard fan. He gave me his business card and I promised to e-mail him my pics.

N'dea came back on stage and started talking to the crowd...To me. She asked what we've been doing in the Bay Area. Before I could even think, I yelled out something. She looked at me and put the mic to my mouth, I screamed, "I'm so glad you're back with the band. Saidah Garrett sucked. That was a huge mistake...." She yanked the mic from my mouth and asked me what song I wanted to hear next. I shot out my request and the band began playing, Forever....I knew that was the next song, because I bullied the stage hand to allow me to take a picture of the song list.

When the concert was over, my feet hurt like hell, I was drenched in sweat, my belt left a black ring around my white tank top, my mascara melted, giving me raccoon eyes and my hair turned into a huge afro. When I pulled the traveling BNHs fan's card out my back jean pocket, it fell into pieces in my hand. The sweat soaked card was smeared with blue ink. I guess he won't be getting any pics. It is to date, the best concert I've ever been to (Replacing Stanley Clarke @ Yoshi's.)

Here's a couple of the 67 pics I took. Oh, and I did get all four of the original band mates to sign my cassette tape of their first released album.

THANKS, STOMACH MUMPS

2006-11-07T02:10:00.000-08:00

Wow...This feels odd. I don't know what to say...It's been a while? Yeah, I know. The more time I spent away from the blogsphere, the more blogfolks, I'd lost touch with, which lead to my hesitatation of getting back in. I never lost the love for it, but it was always, annoyingly on my mind like a neglected bill that wouldn't disappear.

WAAAAAAAAAKE UP!
I got stuck in a really bad routine of Nyquil induced sleep, take out chinese, Cheaters, Maury, gutter sex (when you call the dicks you have no business knowing nor letting them know where you live) and weed induced munchies. Then one Saturday, I simply woke up and realized, I need to get out more. So that's what I've been doing. I established a comprehensive, intervaled (is that a word?) routine with a lovely club/lounge/bar network that ensures I don't become a regular at one spot. The first night out at the old reggae spot completely inflated my head all over again when I received flatteries from the same people I used to see in that damn club since my fake id days. It was heaven. It hit me like a ton of bricks: I look dayum good (Ran into the penis from my last entry. I'm making him prance at the entrance of the stable a little longer, before I decide to let him back in). It's amazing how coffee and Diet Rock Star can keep me functioning for 10 hours of work with only three hours of sleep.

SECRET HIDEAWAY
I ran off to Negril for a couple of weeks last month to get away from it all. I hid from my family and stayed at a hotel. I had a friend take over the renovations while I was there, so no one caught on. Solitude is the world's best detox. I slept until I couldn't roll over anymore, ate until I thought I would bust at the belly button and laid out at the beach until the land sharks got too forward. Sheer heaven. I learned all the latest dancehall moves and spent my late evenings practicing in the mirror, perfecting them for my return to the clubs in Cali. One highlight was meeting Buju Banton. I made the mistake of telling him my mother's maiden name, so he was convinced we were related. Didn't believe in that whole kissing cousins thing. While I was there, I applied for a job online for the CDC. I wanted to see how much my resume was worth.

H.N.I.C
That lead to another large promotion at work. Things couldn't be better there. I applied for a job with the Center for Disease Control when I completed the fellowship. When my boss heard about it, she immediately gave me a deal I couldn't refuse. My parents were ecstatic about it. When I told my father I was seriously considering relocating to Georgia, his response was; "I can't drive to Atlanta. I can't function if you're a plane ride away from me." I almost cried.

ASSSESSMENT CENTER
I've continued helping out the girl I mentioned in previous posts. In September, she decided to call CPS herself and get out of her mother's house. My boss is working on becoming her foster parent. Until then, we share in spending time with her on the weekends. Tonight, she decided to run away from her current foster mother and called me to pick her up. The police just came to take her to an assessment center (which is why I'm up so late), where they will find another foster place or group home to place her until my boss is cleared to taker her in. When I asked her what the assessment center was like, she claimed; "It's like juvi for foster kids who run away. You have to sleep with one eye opened because there's girls who try to rape you in your sleep." Yeap. That's what our tax dollars are operating.

BELIZEAN TREAT
My clubbing routine, busy work schedule, occasional gym work outs and extended sauna sessions has gotten me in a nice cuvry shape. I'm spending two weeks in Belize in December, right before X-mas and my goal is to have sex. That's it. No sightseeing, no touristy crap. Sex. Sex. and Sex. People truly underestimate its healing powers. Gutter sex was the only thing that kept me sane in September. I was having so much that I could literally feel the endorphins oozing from my receptors. Plus, I've long passed my fifth hand this year and figured, I'm only getting older, so I might as well enjoy as many a penis as possible before I...
A: Narrow it down to just one
B: Decide to be a mother (which would drastically decrease the dick intake because I'd have to be a role model).
C: Get married
Currently, B is the only realistic option that could happen between now and 40.

STOMACH MUMPS
What lead to my depressive stint, which lead to my rut, which lead to my epiphany, which lead to my busy social calendar, which lead to my new curves, which lead to my bustling stable...all these things, are in debt to my stomach mumps. Thank you stomach mumps for forcing me to take a time out and realize, I'm not 30 years old, I'm ONLY 30 years old and there's no reason to sweat the fact that there's a possibility that I may not have kids. Plus, I haven't found a man deemed worthy enough to carry his seed for nine months anyway so I've basically been stressing in vain. I have a lot of dick testing to do though...

EGO-TRIP

2006-09-05T22:10:00.000-07:00

I was fresh from the salon with prefectly shaped eyebrows.
Toes, freshly painted.
Hair, battling with the wind and winning.
Jeans were hiding the fact that I haven't worked out in a bit, but giving my ass its due props.
Peroxide washed teeth seeping through my lips...

All eyes were on us at the restaurant. A couple of the cooks came from the back to watch me stand up and walk out. He held my hand as we walked out the restaurant. The women watched him walk by as he paid them no attention. My head was well over inflated and I was so drunk from feeling myself that there was no way to foreshadow the crash.

It was our second date and I was still having difficulty wrapping my brain around the fact that I got him. I've had a Jr. High, intensed crush on him for some time and didn't bother pursuing because I was so sure he could've cared less. He was 6t. four, perfect chisled face & body, straight, white teeth with a killer smile. His Jamaican accent was fading from the years spent here and he just completed grad school. Was a bit bothered by the fact that he was only 27, but I didn't dispute him when he insisted I was 25. I planned on telling him the truth, well after he was secured in my stable.

We finally talked at the JANC Independence Dinner. I took my mother. We sat and watched the mostly wanna-be bourgeois crowd fumble over the Jamaican National Anthem and fight over the catered, watered down food. He came to our table and introduced himself. We made small chat and exchanged cards. My mother was already envisioning what our kids would look like.

So last Thursday, we get back to my place from eating. I light an incense. We sat on the love seat. We drink ginger wine and talked-Well, I was talking. I was doing all the talking. Talking about myself. Talking about my job. Talking about my so far looking bright future. Bragging. Bragging. Bragging. I caught a bad case of UVD (Uncontrollable Verbal Diarheea) and there was no end in sight! I noticed he wasn't making any moves. I went to the bathroom to regroup and come up with a game plan. There was no way he was leaving my house without me getting a sample. I washed my mouth out with water, let out all my farts and ginger & escovich fish burps, rehearsed my plan and sashayed my temporarily pompous, conceited ass back into the living room.
It was time to go in for the kill.

I started with my "Chubby light as a feather" move. I straddled him. Placed his hands on my ass, Gently kissed him. Ensured my puppies were aligned with his eyes and asked him, "Am I too heavy for you?" By this time my hardened nipples placed him in a trance and he immediately exclaimed, "No. Not at all". Works everytime.

We go at it and my cell phone rings. I jump off him and answer it!
My rationalization was that I didn't want to seem too eager and I was sure it was a guy calling being that it was late and I wanted him to know that other men were in my stable.

I know...Really stupid. Broke Munchkin was dummied by my fake enthusiam to talk with him. I was laughing extra hard and my voice went five thousand octaves higher..And my voice is already high pitched. He got up and started putting his shoes on. I tried to casually get off the phone, but my head started deflating. "I can't talk right now. I have to go."

He puts on his shirt.

"Are you alright? Sorry about that. Let's continue where we left off."

"No, it's alright. I have to work in the morning." He looked disappointed. I looked down at his pants and saw the bulge slowly going away. SHHHEEE-YIT!

"OK. Let's get it out. Let me know what's going on?" He sat back down and I sat next to him, holding my breath, reciting, "please take your shirt back off, please take your shirt back off...."

"You're a bit full of yourself."

*INSERT SOUND OF POPPED BALLOON*

ASS FOR GAS

2006-08-23T20:59:00.000-07:00

Did I just pay for sex?

After dodging him for the past three weeks, I finally returned Big Dick Munchkins calls with the hopes of a booty call. I didn't feel like driving to his house. It has been a while though, and I need to relieve some serious stress. I made up my mind to get him to come to me.
Turns out he didn't feel like driving either.

"Gas is too expensive and I'm days away from my next paycheck."

"I know what you mean. It cost me $65 to fill up my tank over the weekend." I tried really hard to sound as if I cared about his financial situation. Broke ass, big dick, magic-tongued fucker.

"I would come over, but I just don't have enough gas to make it there and work until Friday and I really want to see you..."

My hew-hew started to contract. She kicked my brain to the passanger side and took the drivers seat.

"If you come over, I'll give you a gas card. It's only $25, but I'm sure that will give you almost half a tank (He drives a big SUV...Napoleon Complex in its truest form)."

"I'll be there in 30 minutes."

After our bout, I was in my orgasmic induced stupor and my ears were ringing. I completely forgot about the gas card and started walking him to the door. We reached the living room and he was looking at me, wanting me to read his mind because he was too ashamed to speak.

"How much did you say you paid for gas over the weekend?" Hint. Hint.

I retrieved my wallet from my purse and handed him the card.

It was at that moment that I felt dirty. That brief moment when I passed the card to him and both of our hands were on it. I couldn't look him in the eye. He took the card and left.

Technically, I didn't pay for sex because I didn't give him money. Yes, the card has a monetary value and true it was in my wallet, but I didn't pay for the gas card. It's one of the perks from my job. My agency paid for the gas card, which means my agency paid for the gas, so therefore, I didn't pay for the dick and tongue. Nope I sure didn't.

I merely engaged in a small bartered transaction.

DEBBIE DOWNER

2006-08-22T00:40:00.000-07:00

Over the weekend, I deviated from the accepted social code of conduct for pleasantries....

"Friend": So how are things, Chubby?

Chubby: Things haven't been going pretty well for me these past couple of days. Got some scary news from my last pelvic exam. She told me I have a clutter of fibroids that's blocking my right fallopian tube, but I can't get any further information because my Gyno is on vacation until Wednesday, so I'm basically stressing the fuck out because I've been in pain for some time and I now know what that's all about, but fact that I may not be able to have kids-That's what's really keeping me up at night-Not that I'm ready to have kids now, but when you're told you may not be able to have them, it makes you consider it. I'm over-worked and need a serious vacation, but too many obligations this month and into September, so I'm looking at October until I can get away from it all. And to top that off, my car got keyed. Clear across the side. Like a racing stripe. It was a disgruntled client. The earliest I can get it repaired is next week. To date, three people have looked at me at red lights and/or stop signs either laughing or they'll give me that, "Who did you piss off?" look. Oh, and I'm suffering from serious insomnia, which is like a domino effect because I'm too tired to hit the gym before work and am in a grumpy mood all day. So that's what's happening in my world..So far...Today. Things may get worse or better in the days to come. How are things going with you?

"Friend": Um. Fine. Just fine.

CHUBBY PSA

2006-08-15T15:19:00.000-07:00

DISCLAIMER
If you are a member of the social/behavioral cult known as Landmark Education then I strongly inform you to stop reading. If you're not "evolved" enough to read factual criticism about a remodeled est scam then maybe you should get a refund on the thousands you spent taking the Landmark classes.

BACKGROUND
DROID #1:

Last year, a friend was invited to attend an "informational" gathering to learn about ways to "empower herself in generating unlimited possibilities and making a difference". She's originally from Brazil and had recently moved to San Francisco. She was in between jobs and her room mate had just died of an overdose. I guess you could say she was in a fragile state. She attended the social gathering and decided to spend $500 and participate in Landmark Forum. Today, she's bouncing from house to house while persuing her career in becoming a healer. We don't talk anymore because when I tried to have a conversation with her, she agreesively tried to recruit me to the cult. A simple phone conversation turned into this:

Landmark Droid: Hey, Chubby how was your day today?

Chubby: Had a long, shitty day at work. My staff is getting on my nerves.

Landmark Droid: Have you ever stopped to think that it's you whose making them get on your nerves? Maybe it's not them. You know, Landmark has taught me to look at myself first before I blame others for their actions. They are probably reacting to something that I did, so I'm just facing the consequences for something I said or did and didn't realize.......

Chubby: Hold on, someone's on my other line (Chubby presses the mute button, counts to four and unmutes the phone). Can I call you back, it's my mother.

Landmark Droid: Make sure you call back, because I want to invite you to a information gathering my friend is having."

After months of nagging, I broke down and attended an informational meeting. My intentions was to attend, say no thank you and move on. It was at a hotel and there was a mixture of people there. The Landmark staff were a bit scary. Their pupils were dialted from sheer happiness. The meeting lasted for four hours and we weren't allowed to go to the bathroom. After the session ended, we were escorted to the other side of the ballroom and encouraged to sign up for the Forum. I told the woman I wasn't interested. After 30 minutes of the tug of war, I got frustrated and told her I had to leave. When she saw I wasn't budging from my decision, she accused me of being scared to discover my full potential.

Needless to say, Anna informed me that we could no longer communicate because she needed to be with people who lived life the way she did and I would never be happy in life.

Today, I have two people trying to get me to join this crap. Last Thursday, during dinner with a group of friends... This was his pitch:

DROID #2:

Landmark Droid II: Hey Chubby, I noticed you haven't been with anyone since you broke things off with your fiance.

Chubby: Nope. I'm just sampling what's out there. Just having fun.
Landmark II: Did you see the movie V for Vendetta?

Chubby: I loved that movie! I ripped it from my that website you reccommended last week.

Landmark Droid II: Did you know the Writer was a Landmark graduate? He also made the Matrix trilogies.

Chubby: Didn't know that. How are things with your new girlfriend?

Landmark Droid II: We're not talking anymore. I met someone else. I met her from my Landmark Leadership classes. You should really consider doing it. I bet you $500 if you completed the Forum, you'll be in a healthy happy relationship in no time.

Chubby: Already know about Landmark. Thanks for the advice. Let's change the topic now.

About two hours ago, I get a call from my financial advisor. For the past three months, he's been trying to recruit me.

DROID #3:
Landmark Droid #3: I've yet to see your beautiful smile at the Landmark courses. Can you make it tonight? What's holding you back from reaching your full potential?

Chubby: I've lost some people to that. I think it's a social cult. I have my own reasons to believe this and there's nothing you can tell me that will change my perception of it.

He just sent me the following e-mail:

I am deeply saddened by the conversation that just took place. I do value your opinion and am aware that there are people on this planet who wish to spread negative lies about Landmark Education. You seem to be an intelligent young woman and I assumed you would give something the benefit of the doubt before feeling so strongly against it. If you ever change your mind, please visit us at the Preservation Park. We're there most nights at 7pm. Please remember, you'll never know your full potential in life until you take the dive. Landmark is the pool!

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT
IF SOMEONE IS

RECRUITING YOU FOR THE

LANDMARK EDUCATION FORUM,

STOP!

DROP!

AND ROLL THE FUCK AWAY.

IF YOU ARE CONSIDERING

TAKING ANY

LANDMARK EDUCATION COURSE THEN,

JUST SAY NO!

(Thanks for the help and I like it...)

T.M.I

2006-08-08T23:49:00.000-07:00

This morning, I made my favorite sandwich; Turkey, raw spinach (I LOVE spinach, thanks to my mother's cunning method of making my brother and I eat veggies when we were 6 year's old...Singing the Popeye tune in her thick British accent), and shredded sharp cheddar cheese on wheat. It was going to be a long day at the office and I knew I wouldn't have time to leave for lunch, plus my volunteer assistant has headed back to San Diego for school.

I ate the sandwich during a conference call. The shredded cheese kept falling down my bra. I didn't pay it any mind though, because I was hungry. After work, I headed to the gym (haven't seen Cracka Aisss Cracka since the bitch slap heard round the ellipticals), went home and practiced the latest Jamaican dances thanks to you tube. Worked up a wonderful sweat...

Two hours ago, while stripping to take a shower, I took off my bra and found warm, melted, stringy cheese between my puppies.

CRACKA AIIISSSS CRACKA

2006-08-02T13:44:00.000-07:00

I guess it was the calm before the storm. If only my fingers could type faster.
I need to get this OUT.

Maybe it isn't my time to stop blogging. Some shit went down this morning and the first thought that came to mind when the smoke cleared was,
"I gotta post this, ASAP."

I'm a nice person. I don't bother anyone. I don't cause trouble. I like to help people! It's my job! That's what I do! I've only been in one fisticuff my whole life and that was in Jr. High school. He spit on my jacket. I cried after whooping his ass because he had sickle cell... But I'm rambling.

I'm in the gym, working out with Outkast blasting on Gus (Bombs over Baghdad is the best elliptical tune, soca music comes in a close #2), sweat's dripping, I'm making that ugly stretch it face...You know, when there's only 4 minutes left after almost two hours of torture?..Again, I ramble.

Out of nowhere, this woman comes from behind me, taps me on my shoulder, really hard. I almost fall off the machine, turn around with a screw face and she gets within an inch of my nose and starts cussing me out. I'm talking about all kinds of stupid fucks and things of that sort.

I have no idea who she is.

For the sake of not drawing a larger crowd and from mere shock, I calmly tell her she's got me mistaken for someone else and to get out of my face.

"You parked in my parking spot. You didn't see me wait for the guy to leave?"

All this for a parking space? Why didn't she say something immediately after I parked my car? I didn't see her waiting for it. It's a public parking lot? No ones name was on it.

I felt myself shaking.

"Lady, I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and not assume you want a broken jaw. This is your last warning...GET. THE FUCK. OUT OF MY FACE."
I was still cool, but with a bit of a raised tone with a hint of a snearing growl.

"Oh, now you want to play the Black hostile bitch. Well that doesn't scare me...." All I heard was Black bitch and with that, I responded,
"You want Black bitch?"

I've never, in my life slapped someone so hard. I'm an adult! I'm not supposed to do these things! I gave her a bitch slap (angled, back, opened hand) so hard, it made one of my bangles fly off my wrist. Unfortunately for her, I used the hand that has an over sized rectangle shaped amber stone ring, which left a nasty mark on her white, I mean purple cheek.

All I could see were red clouds. I couldn't see nor catch my breath. I remember some burly guy coming over, holding me back and gym workers taking her off somewhere.

The police came and thankfully the many witnesses told the cop what happened. They told him I was simply protecting myself...I guess I was. She tried to file charges, but the officer told her she didn't have much of a case, being that she was the one who made the initial physical contact.

One thing that really bothers me is, why didn't someone hold her back when she damn near pushed me off the machine? Why did it take me slapping her for someone to finally break it up? Did they not hear her cursing me out?

Now I'm embarassed to return to this gym. But I'll be there tomorrow. I'll just keep Gus blasting in my ears and refrain from making eye contact with anyone.

I'm baaaaaaaaack!

SEE, WHAT HAD HAPPENED WAS....

2006-07-31T22:43:00.000-07:00

Nothing.

Life has been predictable and boring. Maybe it's the calm before the storm. I've been back at the gym, thanks to British Butterflys' Trainers words of wisdom, "You know what needs to be done." Or something like that. The hew hew is just about back and smiling at me from the mirror. I'm back to my normal work out routine of 30 minutes on the treadmill at 3.5 mph, 30 minutes on the stationary bike and 45 minutes on the elliptical @ 4 times per week. Now if I can just cut out my daily consumption of chocolate covered pretzels and/or glazed buttermilk donuts....mmmmmmm.

I'm considering running off to JA in a couple of weeks, but my workload is too heavy and it's not letting up anytime soon. My brother is on assignment for six months, so my cat and I are all alone. Was enjoying it the first month, but the walking around in the undies and tank euphoria has long worn off. Smack in the middle of not having to flush every time high.

But, I'm lonely. Did another sweep of the stable two weeks ago. Just felt the need to clean house. Refrain from sex a spell. It's been two weeks...Shut it up! I already know what the comments will be on this.

I'm seriously on the verge of putting this blog to rest. It's just not in me anymore. I've spent the last couple of weeks reading my previous posts and it served its purpose . It made me realize that turning 30 ain't shit. Just another day. No life changing experience, no fireworks nor epiphany...Just 30.

My blog has turned into this mass of guilt on my shoulders because I'm not updating it in a timely fashion. Then I realized, it's my fucking blog. I can update it when I damn well please.

Took my annual HIV test today. Waiting for the results is a pain in the aiss. I'm confident it will be negative, but that window of probability won't close all the way. Well, if it's positive, I'll definitely have some adventures to post.

I need a donut.

CHUBBY, CHUBBIER, CHUBBIEST

2006-07-13T23:36:00.000-07:00

Just looked at my naked body in the mirror and my hew-hew is disappearing.

CHUBBY SPITS VENOM

2006-07-05T21:33:00.000-07:00

My uncle in Jamaica once told me,

"Chubby how do you know you only like Chicken, when you haven't sampled beef, mutton, fish, pork. Don't settle until you sample it all."

I was on the verge of marriage some years back to this guy I was with for quite a while. I woke up one morning and realized that there is no way I can wake up to the same person everyday for the rest of my life. Just wasn't happening. Since then, I seek & conquer: No games, No bullshiting. Since I broke things off with him, it's been extremely rare that I open up to a guy...I'm talking about my heart, not my legs.

So when I decided that I'm going to waste time from my busy schedule to communicate with you several times a week, and when you start the trend of doing the same thing, I expect you to be consistent and not flail. you could have just left what happened in Phili, at the hotel, but you kept pursuing me long after that, making me ultimately believe that you were worth my time and effort. I never liked long distance booty, but you packaged it well, with your words, daily calls, e-mails, flowers to the office, plane tickets....Just when I plopped my feet on the table to rest a spell and open up to you-Something I haven't done in years, you drop the ball. The calls stop and the e-mails become one sentence.

Now I'm stuck. Like I just woke up from a drunk stupor and realized I've lost time. Wasted time on you and I can't snap back. I lost myself thanks to the false security you gave me, believing it was cool to let go. I'm hurt. Now I run the risk of sounding like psychobitch. But this is what you signed up for when you told me, several times over that we crossed paths for a reason and we should take time to get to know each other. Or am I supposed to work it out, talk things out. Isn't that what people do when we want something to work? Maybe, you're just an asshole who gets off on playing mind tricks. Punk ass trick.

I'm trying to express how I'm feeling, but I think I'm typing some chicken scratch, making no sense at all. And I had a shitty day at work too. Before I forget....

@Thandieland:
I usually don't respond to comments from people who make wack attempts at playing, "mirror", but you've caught me in a pissy mood...Here's some mirroring advice for you: Why don't you use the hand you fan with to screw yourself.

Not sure what your life is like, but I only divulge a fraction of me in this blog, so you should think twice before you comment again. The lack of funds is from the villa I purchased in Negril last month and am in the process of redecorating it.

Consider yourself warned.

INSOMNIA

2006-06-29T01:51:00.000-07:00

It's pretty late and I'm having one of my insomniac episodes. I've long tossed out the Nyquil, so it looks like I'm gonna have to fight it. Tried reading a book, but I can't focus. Too many thoughts competing for attention. So I'm getting them all out...

Things have been quite hectic at work. My organization swooped up another agency, so I got a big promotion w/a nice increase, attached with long damn hours. It's worth it though, because I was getting sick of my month and a half stint of peanut butter & jelly sandwich and tea for lunch. I absolutely loath my blackberry. It's like a damn doggie leash.

GO GHANA! Yes, I know they lost but any country that enforces their gold mines to slow production so their people will have enough electricity to watch their squad play, is fresh. I got into a heated debate about the politics of soccer and other sports, and it solidified my notion of the fact that most of us (Americans) really do believe we're the best at everything when compared to the rest of the world...Why does Baseball have a world series when there's no other countries playing in the league?!!! Political.

I'm truly considering beginning a relationship with this guy. I've come to realize how impatient I am when it comes to actually dating a man. When the poking's done, I want to move on and conquer other bones, but before I realized it, I found myself taking my time with this one. After the lust cleared, he had something there worth sticking around for. But long distance courting is a motherfucker. I'll elaborate more in another post....and my goodness, that adventure is in true Chubby form!

The other night while pleasuring myself, my cat sneaked into my room, jumped on my bed and pounced on my vibrator. That shit hurt.

I'm being stalked by my gay friend. We've reached a point in our friendship, when we don't have a reason to communicate anymore. He calls me now at 3am, when he's leaving the bar, drunk off his aisss. The messages are hilarious, but they are getting a bit scary.

The hump at the end of my neck is getting smaller. It's where I carry all my stress and it was actually tight muscles, not fat. It's amazing how many signals your body gives you to inform you to slow the hell down.

I saw Amel Larrieux in concert last month. I caught a glimpse of her preparing backstage before she came on (three hours late). She looks like she's smoking something. And it's not herb.

I haven't been to the gym in eons. I lost my routine with this new position and I'm having a hard time getting back on track. I have a jam packed weekend ahead and all I can think about are a pair of shoes that I need to buy for the party on Monday night.

My mother truly has become my good friend. She turns 60 this year and just when I think I couldn't love her more, I do. She spent the month of April at my house because I was nursing her after an operation. She wouldn't allow me to sleep on my couch, so we shared my bed and I felt like a kid again, feeling so secure. One morning, she told me her mother (my namesake) visited her in a dream and said, "Tell Chubby to take her bracelets off at night. She'll sleep better." And I have...

When I get my brain to shut off.

BAD FENCES

2006-06-24T02:24:00.000-07:00

Why doesn't she keep her curtains closed?

I'm tired of her parading in that piece of cloth with nothing else on. I don't want to see that.
No one wants to hear that loud island jungle music. And she can't sing. I can see the pornos she watches through the thin curtains. And her windows are always open. Does she care?
Why does she have to vacuum at 11pm? It's the middle of the week! She lets her cat scratch holes in the window screens. That cat's gonna make a hole big enough to jump out of one day.
She talks too loud. I'm sick of listening to her argue with bill collectors. She leaves her bathroom window open when she takes showers. She does it on purpose, hoping my husband will catch a peek. What's that noise? Is that her cat screaming like that? It's her! She's having sex and she's damn loud. Does she not have any shame? Then, the next day she struts out of her house, waving and smiling, like she's so innocent. Flewsy.

YOUR THOUGHTS, PLEASE

2006-06-13T16:54:00.000-07:00

What is it about short men's attraction to chubby women?

I'll never understand it.

Someone, please enlighten me.

DISCLAIMER: I'm well aware that not all short men want an abundance of tits and aiss, so spare me the idiotic messages.

SAVE SOME FOR LATER

2006-06-06T14:07:00.000-07:00

I went to the front desk to order online service for my room. He was just checking in. We made eye contact and greeted each other. I purposely dropped my room card, so I could show off my cleavage line. I bent over slowly, knees straight. On the way down, I catched his eyes, falling in position, perfectly on target. I walked towards the elevators and heard his rolling pulley following.

"Hello, you're here for the conference?" He had an East Coast accent.
"Yes, I'm one of the presenters."
"You look no more than 20. What's your presentation on?" -10 points.

We continue with the conversation and exchange cards.
"Let's do dinner some time this week." His sex ladened tone was too obvious, but I overlooked it.

We ran into each other several times the next day during the conference, being professional but our body language and eyes were saying/doing otherwise. During dinner, we sat at our own table and continued the filler conversation. He sensed my impatience and finally made the move.

"Would you mind some company later on tonight?"
"Sure, come up in about two hours."

I cleaned my dirty hotel room, checked my e-mails and watched tv. I began getting nervous and started munching on cookies I stole from the snack room. Thirty minutes later, he called to let me know he was on his way up. We made boring small talk again and he asked my age.
"Why? How old are you?" Trying not to sound too pissed.
"I'm 36 and I know you're not in my age group."
"Well now you have an idea of my age, now can we move on to something else?"If I wasn't already wet, I'd have kicked him out by now.

About 15 minutes later, we went at it. He got on top of me and started working on my underwear. He rubbed my ass so hard, it felt like carpet burn. He then started for my boobs and tried to take my bra off. He was slobbering, kissing and sucking. Too much spit. Then he started chewing.

"Did you have cookies?"

SO HERE'S THE DILEMMA...

2006-06-02T00:14:00.000-07:00

It was brought to my attention yesterday, that one of my staff is going online, viewing nudie pictures and going to the bathroom to polish his sausage. This is no joke. I was told he's doing it about two to three times, daily. I'm in a dilemma because I really don't know if I want to fire him. He's a good worker, not the best, but he's efficient enough. I've never had any problems with him at all and the clients like him.

I've already made plans to have the internet blocked from their computers, so you'd think that would solve the problem. I would have just left it at that, but being that a staff told me about this and he's the type that snitches on every little thing that goes on- I have to take the punitive route. I honestly don't think he's crazy or weird for his actions. Shit, if I could, I would....OK, I have.

It's heavy on my mind and I can't get to sleep because of it. Professionally, I'm going to have to let him go, but personally, I just think he's a human being, who just likes to get off as often as he can. This sucks. I have to leave in about seven hours for a conference, so it will have to wait until I get back.

Of course the blabber mouth will have told the entire staff by the time I get back,then they'll be looking at me, waiting to see how I handle it. If I just get the internet off the computers, they'll think I'm not firm. If I let him go, I'll have to find another person to fill his position, which will take months because it's hard to find someone who will work that hard for such low pay.

Is there anyway I can punish him severe enough to keep my staff in check and not fire him?!

PC

2006-05-21T12:27:00.000-07:00

As much as this has been a personally trying year, I've noticed that I've become more comfortable in my own skin. I've accepted that my body is the size it is and that it resembles a curvier version of Jackee Harry circa 227 (don't laugh, y'all know she was the shit back then!), with extra T&A, albeit, the hump WILL be worked off. I've become more vocal and won't hesitate to voice my opinion, even when I'm the only one who has one.

Ever have people whom you've worked with in the past, or met through a friend bug the shit out of you? I have to many of them. We have nothing in common, yet we make empty promises to get together to do lunch or hang out. The only thing we do is talk on the phone for about five minutes twice a month. That's too much time. I absolutely despise talking on the phone. It's just a waste of time to me. If we're a car drive away from each other, there's no reason for us to talk on the phone all the time. I only talk with my parents on the phone daily. OK, I'm rambling now....To make a long post short, I've finally cut off these people. They weren't my friends to begin with, the only time we've spent together was during working hours or at that ONE party. Leave me alone! I don't care about how your new job is going! I don't care about the funny thing your dog the other day...All that to say that I've finally cut them all off.

Last night, I was entertaining a penis in my house. He's nothing special to go into detail about, only that we've been fooling around for some months, he's cute, has a career and a warm, hard cock.

We'd just finished doing the do (it's been raining here this weekend, which makes sex so much better. There's nothing like fucking on a warm, rainy, May night). So we're in bed and doing the annoying small talk and I'm trying to focus on the fart that's trying to leave the gates. Who made up the rule that it's not polite to fart after sex?! Sometimes that's when you really have to go! Yes, I've had incidents when it happened during, but that's just distracting.

We'd spent the evening chowing down on coconut chicken I made, sipped sangria, champagne and fruit. The time after eating and before fucking is focused on setting up the mood. Then when it finally happens, our body relaxes and wants to let 'em rip. I wasn't paying any attention to what was coming out of his mouth. I needed to fart. So I interrupted his jibber jabber-

"Hey, let's play who can fart the loudest. I'll go first." It was long. He had a very stunned look on his face, but started laughing and he farted too!!!!!!!!
"I've been holding that one in since we were on the couch."

With that out the way, we were able to have a good talk about being PC; Not politically correct, because there's really no such thing in my book. If you say Mexican when you really want to say wetback then you're not politically correct, you're just an asshole. PC in my world stands for politely correct; The polite way to do things, i.e. hold in farts until the company leaves. These little social rules that damage our bowel systems and make us withhold our true opinions. Why do we have to be so polite all the time? I'm not going to stab you or cut off a limb? I just want to be able to burp out loud in public, laugh a little louder than usual if it's funny? For once can I dig in my ass if I'm standing in line? What's the harm in digging in my nose while you're talking to me? I won't flick it on you? How is that hurting you?!

Is there anyone out there in the blogsphere who feels me?!

NO NEW ADVENTURES TO REPORT

2006-05-17T17:19:00.000-07:00

For the first time, I'm typing and I have no idea what I'm going to share. No other Chubby adventures have jumped off so far this month. As usual work and family life has kept me away-OK I'm lying, I just didn't pay my internet bill because I spent too much money on clothes this month. I can't blog at work because I'm actually working, but I paid the bill today, so I'm going to share some snippets of events that's happened:

Smile!
I have two cavities. I've always been good about brushing my teeth. I also take a daily swig of Hydrogen Peroxide to keep them white. The last time I went to the dentist (before this morning) was in 2000. I now have 8 cavities in my mouth. They are all in between my teeth because? Yeap. I purchased floss immediately after seeing my $1000 bill.

Hyphy?
I was looking out my office window last week and this van with spinning rims had four boys hanging out the side, speeding down the street. The driver was shaking his dreads so hard that he didn't see the stopped car in front. They swerved and the van rolled 2.5 times. When we ran out to look, the boys jumped out of the van and ran off...Laughing. What's so amazing is that they managed to remember to hold their jeans up while they were running. Damn Africans (in true bitten form, thanks to KZ)!

Fatback, Chubby
This year, I've noticed a hump growing at the end of my neck. It just crept up on me. Now I'm very cautious of it so I wear my hair down to cover it. My shirt gets stuck in the hump and I look like a hunchback. It hurts too. I think it's where I carry all my stress...and newly absorbed fat.

Vertigo
While in my office last Friday, I passed out. When I came to, I couldn't walk. I was dizzy and started vomiting. My staff called 911 and when they arrived, I couldn't walk. "There's only two of us mam and we're not strong enough to carry you. We don't want to have to call another ambulance to take us if we try to lift you." Yes. That's what the scrawny white boy told me. I was too sick to fight back and I collapsed on the floor again when I tried to walk. One of my staff lifted me on the gurney. I was told that three of my staff told him off for me and one reported them to their ambulance agency. When I got to the hospital, Dr. J's friend was there. He completely ignored, which I was very thankful for because I was in my workout clothes and my hair was in a pony tail (exposing my fatback). They told me I either have vertigo or I'm stressed out and need to slow down. I've concluded it's the latter.

Fassss AISS
The young girl I mentioned in a couple of earlier blogs is doing alright. I spend time with her weekly and enrolled her into a summer girls program to keep her off the street. I was leaving the office at about 7pm yesterday and I saw her walking with a group of guys. She had on a skimpy tank top and cut off booty shorts. She doesn't even have a shape to fill the clothes in. I pulled over and made her get into the car. She claims her new boyfriend was in the group and they were on their way to his friends house. She was pissed that I made her get in the car and I actually felt guilty for pissing her off. So I took her to Micky D's and spent a little more time with her. I dropped her off at her aunt's apartment in Berkeley. When I got there four guys were leaving her apartment.

Gus
I'm ridiculously addicted to my video ipod. I listen while I'm driving, at work and when I go to bed. I got an e-mail earlier this month from someone asking me what I listen to. Right now it's anything N'dea Davenport. One of her songs with the Headhunters (tip toe) is in heavy rotation. If anyone out there knows how I can download my porn clips onto Gus, please shoot me an e-mail. I'm serious about that.

CHUBBY CHOCOLATE W/ FISH?

2006-05-04T17:32:00.000-07:00

This turning 30 thing has placed me in the most annoying situations these days. I haven't been 30 for a month yet and I'm being treated like some old spinster. It truly disgusts me, but Monday took the cake.

On May Day, my mother and I paid a visit to one of her old friends who's recovering from open heart surgery. The last time I saw Carol, I was in middle school. I didn't want to go, but I promised my mother I'd spend more time with her. We get there and she opens the door. We're greeted by her three barking, salt and pepper poodles an oxygen tank and walker. She's only 58 years old (cigarette smoke kills, people!).

"Look at Chubby!" She manages to give me a kiss through her oxygen mask. My jaw dropped when the smell of cigarette smoke invaded my nose. This wench STILL SMOKES!!!! "Just look at you! I didn't think you'd turn out to be so pretty!" Was that a compliment? "You've got to meet my daughter. You two would get along really well."

I give her a courtesy smile and laugh and I plop myself on her couch. I felt like a 10 year old, waiting for my mother to get the visit over with. They gossip about who retired, who moved back to Jamaica, who died before they could enjoy their time back home......I play with the dogs to kill time. Then her front door opens.

She's looks to be in her mid 30s, dark skin with a short fro. Her thick,black glasses are too small for her face. She's wearing the quintessential Oakland Butch uniform: Tattered baggy jeans, loose t-shirt sloppy-tucked with saggy boobs and a large opened button down shirt with open-toe sandals.

"Hey, Chubby this is my daughter I was talking about earlier. The one I want to hook you up with. You two have ahhhhhh lot in common."
She dragged the "a lot" which translated into, " You two are both lesbians."

WHAT THE FUCK?!

"Hook up how?" I ask with a confused, irritated tone.

"Oh, you know you two can talk and maybe spend some time together. Nobody wants to be alone ...." I zoned out after that. I couldn't believe it! Then my mother cuts her off.

"Chubby likes men, Carol. But her career is dedicated to helping people who have same sex partners." My mother's way of trying to clear things up without being a bitch about it.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Chubby! When your mother told me you weren't married yet, I just assumed you were like my daughter. I'm so sorry." We all nervously laughed it off and her daughter and I made small talk. She apologized about her mothers assumption and told me it was the third time this year she's been playing match maker. We then swapped match-making horror stories and joked it off.

This annoying societal, expectation of a single 30 year old female knows no sexual preference.

SI SE PUEDE!!

2006-05-01T13:39:00.000-07:00

I shut down the office today to support the immigration protests. I received so many e-praises and thank you's from fellow immigrant colleagues...Truth is, I just wanted a long weekend.

Last night I went out with the girls to this spoken word event. I didn't want to go, but I figure I'd burn more calories being away from my couch (working on melting off the winter coat). I absolutely DESPISE this type of gathering: A bunch of people who think they're above the norm because they have locks, wear dyshiki-like colors and can snap their fingers.

The performers are just that....Performing. They aren't artists! They are pompous shits.
First one on the stage, was talking so fast and screaming that I couldn't hear a word she was saying-And I was in the front row. The audience began clapping. What the fuck reason is there to clap about? Because she's talking fast?!

"SOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLD!!" I couldn't resist. My friend nudged me, but couldn't stop laughing.

The next three acts gave three different renditions of their love for hip-hop. They were under the age of 25, talking about Biggie and Tupac. My friends and I continued voicing our disgust for the performers. Other tables caught on and soon we became the act.

Next was a short fuck bragging about how good he is at cunnalingus. He named his poem, cunning cunnalingus. How creative. "Of course you're good at it. Your whole head could fit in my hew-hew. Oops, did I just say that out loud?" My liquored up friend indeed said it out loud. In fact, she was so loud that other tables were now applauding her.

Next was a woman in ultra low rise, camel toe tight jeans, a short tight t-shirt with no bra, sharing with us her experience of constantly getting recruited to be a video hoe.

"BOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!" I paid $20 for this shit?! That's 20 new songs I could have downloaded on Gus. Part of that outburst was also dedicated to the fact that I could never wear a short tight t-shirt...without a bra. Well, I could, but I'd look like a female version of Baby Huey.

One of the promoters came to our table and asked if we could please lower our voices and give the artists a chance to voice their thoughts without judgement.

We got thrown out ten minutes later with partial refund.

ALL IN THE FAMILY

2006-04-21T11:19:00.000-07:00

Dr. J was back in town for the week, so we went out last night.
We did the usual distractions before sex: Dinner, movie and INSULTS!!!

We went to a nice place on Haight st. (yes, it does exist) in the city. We sat down and the waiter ran off the specials. I recognized him, but couldn't place his face. Did we have a go in the past? Nope. He looked young. Where do I know him from?

"How have you been, Chubby?" He knows me too.
"I'm fine, I knew I recognized you, but I'm not sure where."
"Oh, it will come to you...." Oops. I guess it wasn't on civil terms. He walks away to get our drinks.

Dr. J. has a confused look on his face and I quickly switch topics. The waiter comes back and won't look me in the eye. He directs all conversation to Dr. J. What the fuck?!!!!

"Did I beat you up in grade school or something?" I say jokingly. Dr. J notices the tension and I let out a nervous laugh.

"I'm Sean's cousin. Remember Sean?" SHIT. I dated him eons ago. It was purely for parent shock value purposes.

"Right! I remember you now! How is he?" I try to hide my panic look. Now I can't look Dr. J in the eye.
"Not good, but that's not where you know me from. You also dated Andris, my brother. Remember him too? Fucking bastard. He knew just what he was doing. But I down play it smoothly.

"I remember him too!" Now looking at an even more confused Dr. J. "I used to date two of his relatives. I really liked the men in his family." Chubby Nervous laugh # 2.

"Yeah and what she didn't tell you was that they were not only cousins, but best friends. Because of her, they fought and she also hurt my brother."
Dr. J just nods his head, scared to say anything. Chubby Nervous laugh #3.

"I think you should pick your battles wisely. Especially while at work, don't you think?" I give him a don't fuck with me (and I'm starving too?!) look.

Sir, I don't know you, but be careful. She's not worth it." Dr. J. snaps out of his dazed gaze just in time to see my head switching gears to begin the rolling and flared nostrils. I was so ready to chop his head off, I couldn't hear what Dr. J told him. He grabs me from the chair and we leave the place.

"I don't even want to know what that was about." The daze look slapped itself right back on his face. The only thing that crossed my mind was, puhhh-leeeze, don't hold out on the nookie.

Needless to say, I did get a happy ending (pun intended; I got a good pre-sex massage).

CONTINUATION OF THE (forced) DICK HUNGER STRIKE
CUMS TO AN END!!!

Sorry, couldn't resist.

TOO MUCH ON MY MIND

2006-04-18T12:55:00.000-07:00

Ever feel like you're on automatic? Like everything around you is moving, progressing except you? You're breathing, talking and moving, but you feel like you're just taking up space?

That's what the 14 year old told me yesterday. Even though it's way out of my league, I'm helping her out by talking to her. Some days it helps, some days, I can tell she just wants to get out of my office. Last week she disclosed that she had sex for the first time...With a 23 year old....Without a condom.

My first impulse was to slap the shit out of her, but she's not my kid to be slapping. I was on the verge of tears, but then I had to remember that she did come to me, which means that she can trust me. I had to keep my cool and respond.

I was proud of myself. I actually sounded like I had sense when I gave her the sex & men talk. She was very appreciative and thankful. I gave her an HIV test (knowing it would show up negative because her window period just started), just to spook her and scheduled an appointment at Planned Parenthood for a pap smear and birth control pills.

"So did he pull out or cum inside you?"
She looks down at the ground and shrugs her shoulders
"If you're too embarassed to talk about it then you're not mature enough to have sex."
She nodded and started crying and then she finally told me the whole story.

I had to call her mother and tell her what happened, in her own apartment while she was out zooted on crack. Even though the girl claims it was consentual, I know she was forced. Her crack head mother claims she'll follow through and press charges against him, but I'm sure nothing will come about it.

She says she doesn't want to do it again for a long time, but that's what we all said.

When I got home, I was so mentally exhausted. I can't imagine what it's like for her, living in a crack house, no supervision... I do feel that I'm doing what I can, but damn.

I'm debtaing on whether or not I should make an anonymous call to CPS, but if I do that, it will just create a whole new set of problems for her and then she'll get thrown in the system....I really don't know what to do.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME

2006-04-09T16:33:00.000-07:00

At 7am this morning I get a call from my uncle in Jamaica:

Uncle: Happy Birthday, Chubby.
Me: Morning, Uncle.
Uncle: How old are you today?
Me: I'm 30 years old now, Uncle.
Uncle: WOOO-EEEE! And you don't have baby yet?
Me: No uncle, not yet.
Uncle: Well, you aren't married yet, so you better just go on make your parents grandparents now before it get too late.
Me: Ok, Uncle.
Uncle: You wait too long, focusing on career and now you're 30 with no husband or kid.
Me: I know, Uncle.
Uncle: Well, I see what I can do for you for a husband. Next time you come home, I have a line up of prospects for you.
Me: Ok, Uncle.
Uncle: Well, enjoy the rest of your day, Chubby and Happy Birthday.
Me: I'll try.

OPEN LETTER TO ????

2006-03-30T17:02:00.000-08:00

you stew-pid aisss wench.

what makes you think you know it all?
huh?!
don't be mad at me because I'm doing your job and doing it quite well.
you wanna play the bitch card and try to compete with me?

BRING IT, BEEE-YITCH!!!!

Someone has definitely been lying to you!
you mad because I'm two steps ahead of you?
huh?!
you mad because I'm half your age and already at your professional level?
the sky's the limit for me , you wench!
retirement's the next stop for you suck-ahhhhhhh!
can't stand to see another female do good, can you?
wanna be the envious crab in the barrell, snipping at my heels trying to bring me down to your level.
well keep clawing at my heels, sweetie 'cause I got size 10s that will STOMP YO AIIISSSSSS!

phew, EXHHHHHHHHHALE.

Back to work....

MR. RAPIST

2006-03-22T18:32:00.000-08:00

I met her my first day of college. I was 18 and she was 15. Her parents sent her off to the states when she was 9 to set her on the path of becoming a Dr. We immediately bonded-My curiousity of Africa and her fascination with the fact that I was so outspoken in an all girl, mostly white college. It didn't take me long to discover that her family was very wealthy...Very wealthy.
Her father was a well known lawyer in his country. She didn't talk much about him and my only contact with him was a telephone conversation.

"Hello, Sir."
"How old are you?"
"I'm 18 years old."
"You're awfully old for a first year college student. Are you Black?"
"Yes, I'm Black."

She snatched the phone from me. Our college years were spent de-mything each other's perceptions/culture. We got into heated debates about misconceptions of each other's culture, but, we remained friends long after college. She taught me all the dirty swahili words and schooled me on the trickeries of Nigerian men. We even transferred out of that college to another one and were suite mates. After we graduated, she moved to the east coast to do her residency, but we still talk everyday and we're convinced that we were meant to be in each other's lives.

Recently, I decided to google her father. He has a distinct name. Immediately many results popped up. He was in the middle of a scandal in his country. Accused of stealing millions from his country and transferring the money to Swiss accounts. His law firm had clients that consisted of many parliament members, the eletricity company and the water company. He was a multi-millionaire, but my google search results deemed him a rapist of his country.

I never spoke to her about my findings, but it bothered me. It was obvious that he was a white collar crook without monetary limitations and no remorse for his actions. Another article popped up about his winning bid for parliament and his flopped plans to contstruct a water system in his native village. Somehow the millions of dollars raised for the project went missing. Another article was his representation of two European men on vacation in his country, who killed an African woman and ditched her body in a river. He got them off scotch free. The picture showed him shaking their hands, with a large smile across his face as the family of the killed woman crying off to the side. The one that really pissed me off was of a statement he made when he was asked about the plight of HIV/AIDS in his native village. I won't even bother to quote him because it's just sickening.

I'm a bit torn because I consider her a really good friend, but it's just sickening to know that I have a friend who is related to someone like him. He probably thinks his three children are perfect with their American education and African roots.

I wish I could tell him how his beautiful daughter, the Dr. to be, has had three abortions and is twice divorced before the age of 26.

I want to tell him that his eldest daughter, who holds a law degree, can't find a job because she's never worked a day in her life, so she spends her time living off the money he robbed from his country and her latest crisis was deciding on which rinse jeans she should waste $200 on.

I would like to tell mr. rapist that his only son is an alcoholic who beats his girlfriend and has done jail time.

I want to tell my good friend that I know what her father does and it's sick and she should be ashamed. But I know this will never happen and I'll continue to pretend that I have no idea how is it that she manages to spend money so freely without worry.

THE SPOT

2006-03-16T18:04:00.000-08:00

This has got to be my all time, numero uno, one, un, premire or how ever else you say it. I can't believe I'm expelling this but I'm sure I'll feel better afterwards.

Tevin and I knew each other since high school. He graduated the year before I became a freshman. We liked each other, but he waited patiently for me to bloom before he picked me. But he waited a bit too long, to his surprise when he noticed there wasn't any blood stained sheets after we first had sex...In his mother's bedroom. I would get decked out in my cheerleader's uniform and lie to my parents that I had a ball game to perform at. He'd pick me up down the street and we'd go to his house.

Tevin and I kept in touch long after I graduated high school, even college. We were both with other people, but we'd call each other about once a month to hook up. Our last sexcapade was the one that made me realize I needed to leave his aiiissss alone.

It was February 2003. I was in my office and I get an e-mail from Tevin.

Tevin:Hey Chubby how's that kitty cat?
Chubby:Purrrrrrfect. How's Little Big Tevin hanging?
Tevin: Find out for yourself. How about tonight? 9pm at the spot?
Chubby: No panties?
Tevin: You know how I like it.
Chubby:See you at the spot.

Our spot was a parking lot...of an elementary school.

I was in an exceptional good mood the rest of the day at work. I let everyone leave an hour early so I could shop for a cute bra.

The Routine- Whomever got to the spot first would park underneath the tree, turn off their lights and wait. When the other arrived, the first would flash their lights twice, confirming it was them.

I arrived in a bra and jacket. It was freezing cold, and raining. He hoped in my car and I immediately mounted him. My car back then was a four door 1991 BMW 535i, named Oliver.
I buried his face in my chest and worked on his pants. We moved to the backseat, then we got out of the car. Yes out of the car, both of us booty butt naked in the rain. I hopped on the hood of my car and skooted my ass to the edge so he can stand and pump. For the finale, we got back in the backseat. When it was all over, we made the smallest of small talk:

Tevin: How's your fiance?
Chubby: Alright. How old is your son now?
Tevin: Three years old. I moved back in with his mother.
Chubby: Well, it was nice seeing you again. Until next time.

That weekend, My mother and I were in my car, heading to the mall. I turned on the heater and the smell of sex seeped through the vents.

Mama: Oliver smells funny. Like twat.
Chubby: I don't know why it smells so. I think it's because I left food in the trunk.
Mama: Well it smells like backside

We arrive to the mall and my mother opens the backdoor to get her purse.

Mama: Chubby, is that a footprint on the window?

I waited about three months before I contacted him again. When I called him, he told me of his uncle, a custodian at the spot who told Tevin of the sporatic used condoms he'd find in the parking lot and how disgusted he was that someone would do that.

That was the last time we'd spoke or seen each other.

CHUBBY ALPHABET SOUP

2006-03-15T10:56:00.000-08:00

Fucking hump day.

Can't wait to get on that plane to Atlanta or Merrietta. It will be a rigorous week, but the alone time in my hotel room, ordering room service and watching TV will be my make believe spa in Sonoma. Maybe I'll rape that cute bell boy...I'll tip him for it?!
Just counting down the days.......What's up with my font size?

Sooner or later this was going to happen. It really is about 1 degree of seperation in this blogshpere....Here you go Robyn (The second Black person I know who likes Jamiroquai):
Accent: Mixture of high-pitched valley girl with really bad patois
Bra size: 40DD (can you see them, Zed?!)
Chore I hate: I love cleaning the house: I just write a check.
Dad's name: Jose
Essential make-up: MAC Studio Fix, mascara.
Favorite perfume: Burt Bee's Milk & Honey Body Lotion
Gold or Silver? Silver
Hometown: I left Oakland to live in Hercules when I was 10 years old
Insomnia: Too often
Job Title: Interim Executive Director
Kids: My cat, Pooter
Living Arrangement: With twin brother
Mom's Birthplace: Westmoreland, Jamaica
Number of Sexual Partners: 24
Overnight Hospital Stays: Three (one involved my ass, but my true bloggers already knew that.)
Phobia(s): Large statues, a hoard of ants
Quote: "When I dare to be powerful, to use my strenth in the service of my vision, then it becomes less and less important whether I am afraid." - Audre Lorde
Religion: Is an evil thing when placed in the wrong hands
Siblings: Twin Brother
Two I'm tagging: My cousin from another aunt & The dopest Lesbian
Unnatural hair colors I've worn: Never died my hair
Vegetables I refuse to eat: Fungus (mushrooms) & cooked carrots, peas, string beans, lima
Worst habit: Playing manipulating games with my puppets-I mean staff. (mmmmwaaahh-hah-haaaah!!!)
X-rays I've had: Right ankle from car accident last year
Yummy foods I make: Smoke turkey stew peas & spinners w/brown rice
Zodiac sign: ARIES!!!!

NO ROOM

2006-03-13T15:51:00.000-08:00

I'm in the office today, doing the usual goofing off and then the shit hit the fan.

Her mother was a former employee, but got termintated because she was still using. That was way before my time, but my staff has taken her daughter in-Giving her small tasks to do around the office and giving her bus passes to get to school, food and such.

I'm alone in the office (Monday's are admin days, so it's only me and/or the finance person). I let her in the back room so she can start packing supplies. I make small talk:

"How's school coming along?"
"Fine."
"What's been going on with your mother?"

That question opened the can of worms. She told me her mother moved out of their house because her cracked our aunt & boyfriend took the place over. She hasn't been to school in a week because she has no lunch money or bus pass, most of her clothes have been stolen by her aunt and she doesn't want to go back home. I try to calm her down by finding solutions, but she has a reason for each one, eventually cornering me into complete silence.

I don't know what to do. I was two second short of having her stay at my place, but by doing that, I'll throw myself in a situation I don't want to be in. I'm not even going to bother calling the police because that will cause way too much drama. She's only 14 years old, crying out for help and she's leaning on my shoulder, asking for advice and I don't know what to tell her.

I call my boss who has a closer relationship with her mother. I let her know what's going on and she claims she'll call the mother and speak with her. Then she ends the call by saying,

"You should really look into adopting her. You have the space and you don't have any kids...."

For a mili-sexond (oops, Freudian slip, ya'll) second, I felt guilty and considered it. Then I started getting angry. Who in the hell is she to tell me what I need to do? I'm giving her my time, my ear, positive attention. That's the best I can do. Why don't you take her in? You don't have any kids? You definitely have the space? Don't put me on the spot like that.

I took her to the locksmith to get a lock to place on her door and a cheap cell phone with a pre-paid card for emergencies.

That's the most I can do without putting myself in a mix I have no room for on my overloaded plate of shit. Am I being selfish? I'm not even going to bother answering that because I know I'm not.

FART BUBBLES

2006-03-12T05:32:00.000-08:00

I never called him.

Just couldn't do it. Instead I buried myself in my work and went shopping. The recent increase in pay has only added more fuel to my shopping addiction. It helped me get over the hump...Well, lack there of, I should type.

Things are actually not bad at all right now. I was going to dedicate my future posts to the countdown of my 30th birthday, but that's really boring. My lack of humping has forced me to dig up past sexcapades-Most I'd like to forget. Not hide in a closet forget, but purge and release forget. So until I get some or until I'm thrown in some chubby adventure, I'm going to purge my most horrific sexcapades onto this blog...Just dump the shit out with the objective to never, ever revisit them in the future.

Let the verbal vomitting begin:

We'd finally reached his bed from a long night of clubbing and eating. It was almost 3am and we ate at a late night Chinese place. After the B-line to the bedroom, we were in the act. The usual routine of positions ensued and then it was time for the finale. Suddenly, it felt as if I was being stabbed in the abdomen. I cried out in pain.

Being the pompous prick he was, of course he figured he was doing some damage and I was enjoying it. With each thrust, my owwwwwws and shrieks got louder. I pushed him off and curled up in a ball, well half on account of my curves. I started crying. Is it my appendix? Did he rupture my spleen? What the hell is going on?

"I need to go the hospital NOW!" I cried. But I couldn't move. Every inhale only made it worse. He managed to get my clothes on and help me to his car. I'm cussing, crying and holding on to my stomach with each bump he hits. He's really in a panicked state because he actually believes his dick was the responsible culprit. He apologizes to me the whole route.

We reach the emergency room and he grabs a wheelchair. I sit in it and continue with the shrieks and tears. He registers me and we wait. During the one hour wait, I feel the pain shift from one side to the other, then the pain slowly lowers itself through my abdomen. He's sitting next to me snoring and I shift in the wheelchair, adjusting so to manage the pain. Then it happened.

PPPPPOOOOOOOOPPPPPP!!!
POP!!
POP!!!!

I farted so loud, he jumped from his sleep and looked at me in amazement. The pain went away. We looked at each other and I could see the realization seeping through his eyes. He motioned for me to get out of the wheelchair, knowing I could walk with ease. We walked out the ER, drove back to his place and I left. We saw each other for about three months after that and never spoke of that night.

A.D.I.D.A.S

2006-03-09T13:35:00.000-08:00

I've lost count.

Can't fantasize about it anymore because I forgot what if feels like to be poked. Oscar broke last week. Can't focus at work because my thoughts are working overtime, making sorry attempts to dig up past sexcapades to pacify my brain. Drawing blanks.

Last night in bed, tried manually stroking it, but my brain became flooded with random non-productive thoughts of work I've yet to complete and the looming tasks I've yet to acknowledge.
Fell asleep horny which made me wake up this morning on a mission.

The starvation pains have kicked in

MUST....GET....DICK....

Currently in the office debating on if I should I call Big Dick Munchkin or not.

Do I even have an option?

SAD DAVE & LITTLE DICK

2006-03-02T18:06:00.000-08:00

I've been neglecting the only method that's keeping me sane (blogging) due to my increased duties at work, which is a good thing, but I now have decreased time behind my closed office door to fuck off and catch up on your blogs.

So I saw Dave at the punchline. It was a surprise show, so my friends and I stood in line for four hours before we could get the special bracelet which enables us to buy a ticket. It was well worth it though. The show didn't start until 11pm. The audience was compiled of white frat boys who think they're down because they know a rap song, skank asian women, with the mission of getting back stage to meet him (because he's married to a Filipino) and about four Black people (me included). He looked very tired and he lit up a cigarette. The audience laughed. Was that a joke? Why are they laughing? He asked the waiter to get him a cup of coffee. They laughed again. WHAT THE FUCK?

Then the audience started yelling requests: "Do Rick James, Dave!" Do the crack guy, Dave!" He ignored them and continued his conversation of everyday things through his eyes. Then he started talking about his stay in Africa.
"Tell us about the bitches in Africa, Dave!" My table looked at him from the front row with glares of, "You better not respond to that."

"Well, first off there are no bitches in Africa, idiot." Good job, Dave.
CRICKETS.
"What's his damage?" I heard someone from the audience say. Being that I was front row, I'm sure Dave heard it too.

All that to say that eventually, Dave broke out in a shuck & jive tap dance and started talking about things only we (black people) would laugh at which made the audience very nervous. He stayed on the stage until 3:30am. Mos Def joined him as they played, Name that tune:REAL hip-hop style. My table was the only one playing. Right before the show ended, Mos Def invited my friends and I out for breakfast with them. We all declined, being that it was early morning Monday (He did tell me I had a killer smile, tough!).

So that's what happened with Dave. Now on with the post.

Since my rut, I've created a regime I've titled, "pretty me" which includes regular facials, and a visit to a hair salon-The first time since Jr. High. Every other week, she washes my hair, blow dries it and I throw it up in a pony tail, so I can twist it at home. I get many stares from the unisex salon patrons when I lift my head from the sink after the water hits it.

It's called nappy hair you processed, fried, unbeweaveable negroids.
I've managed to ignore their chuckles and stares.

I'm sitting in the chair, as the beautician blow dries my hair and I glimpse at the person in the chair next to me. I do a double take as my brain starts to process:
He looks familiar. I know him from some where. I recognize that voice. He's looking at me funny. He knows me too. Oh, shit. I fucked him before. He wasn't good.

It all came to me in a flash. Four years ago. He lived two houses up from my then fiance. We flirted constantly and I finally decided to try him out. He was the first to make me cum via oral pleasure alone. NEVER have I met anyone who can beat him. He lured me in by keeping the licking good..Then around the sixth visit, he revealed his secret.

I was coming down from orgasmic convulsions. He propped my legs around his neck and stuck it in. Then he didn't move. He was 6ft. 3, very muscular. I couldn't breath. When he decided to begin the pumping, his dick fell out. He pushed it back in, waited a couple of seconds, resting all his weight on me and he made another attempt. Out it popped. Then it went limp. He rolled off me and I glimpsed at it. It was so small, the condom was still partially rolled up. After months of dodging his phone calls and being igcognito, he finally got the message. And yesterday, there he was.-Sitting right next to me, now giving me the most dirtiest look. We never said a word to each other. Our eyes were doing all the talking.

Before he got out of the chair, he stuck his tongue out and did a little snake move. My cootchie contracted. Little dick bastard.

FIGHT!!

2006-02-24T01:58:00.000-08:00

I just read my last post...Damn. I was really going through it.
I've been spending time away from my home computer and spending more time outside, among friends, getting massages, etc...I'm doing much better, gave myself ample time to recover from my cold and I've long lost count of the number of weeks it's been without dick. Thank you all for the much needed advice! You truly showed a chubby girl some love. :-)

I almost got into a fist fight today.

This is highly unusual for me. The last and only fisticuff battle I engaged in was in Jr. High. I was walking by a school bus and a guy spit mucus out the window which landed on my winter jacket. This wasn't just any winter jacket. During this time winter coats that resembled the Cosby kids' jackets were in fashion. We were fresh from winter break and I got one for x-mas.

I told him to get off the bus and wipe the disgusting warm, thick, white lewgie off my jacket. He said, "tough titty" and closed the window. I then walked on the bus, confronted him again and a fight ensued. The only thing I remember were the two guards holding me back and I started kicking him until they grabbed my legs. My father got the call to come pick me up and cursed the prinicipal for suspending me but not the guy (when you win a fight, you get suspended. The loser doesn't, but faces a slew of verbal punishment from school mates). And that's how I was crowned the nickname, Mike Tyson during Jr. High. But I digress....

This afternoon, I arrived to my office after a meeting. There's a beauty shop next door to my building and the owner decided to park her 1999 Hyundai in our loading zone. One of my staff was parking our company truck further down the street. He had medical supplies to unload, which would cause him to trek up and down the street to load/unload.

I walked into the beauty shop and nicely asked if she could move her car up, so he could unload the boxes of supplies.
"Hell, naw. I'm sick of ya'll muthafuckas asking me to move my *&#(@ car. Don't ask me no more." Usually, I'd give an educated,wise-ass response that made them feel stupid for getting an attitude. But the snickers from the heifers in the chairs, made me knock off my professional hat.

"There's no reason for you to get ignorant. I asked you a simple question. If he hits your car with the truck, don't say shit." I slowly turned on my heels and walked out the shop with a trail of, "eeeewwwww, no she di-int!" She then followed me to the front of my office and the verbal battle began. My staff walked out of the building to witness, women with shower caps spilled on to the sidewalk. It was all a blur. All types of ignorant bitches and stupid fucks and ditsy ass bitches were spilling out my mouth.

"You better watch your car. I'll wreck your shit." Yes, ya'll. She targeted Ebony.

"I wish you would. Touch my Benz, bitch!...." I then got in her face and my staff had to hold me back. All that to say, I feel like a complete idiot for letting my staff see me like that and that I stooped to her level. But I didn't know I had it in me! I couldn't believe how fast my neck was rolling and how quick the words were spewing out my mouth. It was a bit of a stress relief. But now my staff saw me crack and that's something I try to avoid being that they're older than me and look for reasons to throw it in my face. For the rest of the day, staff would greet me by saying, "touch my Benz, bitch." Very annoying.

The other thing I wanted to mention was that I saw Dave Chappelle on Monday. He did a four hour (11pm-3am) show at the Punchline. It was kind of sad. But it's late now, so I'll save that for another post.

Soon come...

CRASH & BURN

2006-02-13T20:35:00.000-08:00

My arms are covered in hives from being overstressed, overworked and sick with a sinus infection. The right side of my face has two zits that won't go away. I need to wash my hair, but don't have the energy or desire to. I haven't shaved my legs or underarms in months. My eyebrows are three days away from connecting. My fingernails need to be cut. The nailpolish on my toes have chipped into a leopard print fashion. I haven't been to the gym in two weeks. I haven't cooked in months. I had two MacDonalds fish sandwiches in one day. My house is dirty. My cat's litterbox needs to be cleaned. My nose is running. Big Dick Munchkin won't stop calling.

On Sunday, I was invited to go to a house party where Jr. Gong Marley was supposed to show up at, but I didn't feel confident enough to go. Instead I spent the weekend on my couch trying to pin point which orifice this negative energy is seeping itself into.

Not quite sure if it's the negative energy or just life that's taking its toll on me.

My mother won't take care of the business going on in Jamaica and she won't let me take care of it. I can see them now sitting tall, thinking they won and ran us off the property. She's not a fighter. She lets people get to her and she gives up. It makes me sick. Can't talk to her about it because she gets on the defensive. My father's way of handling it is alcohol induced self medication until he passes out. The longer they ignore the situation, the harder it will be for me to straighten things out. If something should happen to them, I'll be the one who has to take this shit on. Not my weak, lazy, weed head twin brother.

I can't take compliments anymore. Some random guy at the grocery store told me I have a pretty smile. I frowned at him, rolled my eyes and continued looking for tv dinners to buy. I've gone on a series of shopping sprees, knowing I can't afford it. I have more clothes than I do hangers. The clothes are piled over my closet door. I've yet to wear them.

January was hell and February seems to be no different. Ever since I got back from Jamaica, things haven't looked up. Maybe I just need to get laid.

This negativity has got a serious hold on me.
I'm going down a serious negative slope and my hands are tired of hanging on.

DATING OUTLIER

2006-02-08T18:33:00.000-08:00

My no dick stint has forced me to begin roaming various websites with profiles and messages of man seeking women. I'm refraining from posting my pic on a dating site for fear that someone I know will run across it.

I started off on Craigslist. Right off the bat, it's evident that I was wasting my time. These are acutal posts:

Single Black male seeks single Asian female
Single Black male seeks single White female
Single Black male seeks single Latina
Single Black male seeks single NON-Black female.
Single Black male seeks single Black female-Must be athletic build, bi-racial, educated and professional.

Why are there specific stipulations when it comes to us? punk aisss beeee-yitches.

I switched to Yahoo Personals and typed in my parameters (Single, Black man, 31-36 w/pics). I got back hundreds of results. As I scanned through the pics, Slave songs were popping up in my head. Steve Arrington's nasal, sleezy, porn-like voice ringing in my ears, making the theme song for the greasy ass pics...
"And aahhhhhhh want to snap!
OOOOUUUUUUT.
Yeeeeeeeewwwww!"

Some with looks on their face that screamed, "ah make ya weak at the knees....."

Their statements are so fake. Putting their best lies forward to mask the fact that they have a post with a picture of them flexing their muscles, or out of focus pics to deter us from seeing their fat. Why can't our posts be honest?

Single black, chubby female seeks:
-Tall dark-complexioned male with a long, large girthed curved, leaning dick
- Preferrably to the left.
-You must be able to pay your own bills, live alone and enjoy watching porn with your mate.

I gave up and switched to a retail website to shop for shoes.

A documentary aired a few months back about dating. According to their statistics, Black women and Asian men are the least likely group to be married and or dating in America.

Strike ONE against me.

Then add about 20 pounds to the athletic build....STRIKE TWO

and nappy hair...STRIKE THREE

I'm out.

MACABRE

2006-02-05T20:58:00.000-08:00

My aunt died.

Whenever someone we know passes, it makes us think about the inevitable. We're all going to die: when, where and how is what fucks me up. You never know. I'm confident in knowing that it's not going to be the next second. Tomorrow is another story.

She died by simply choking on a piece of sandwich while eating lunch, alone in her own home. Dying wasn't on her mind when she woke up that morning, nor the second before she choked. What was she thinking during her wait for an ambulance to respond? What were her thoughts when she realized she wasn't going to make it? What did she think right before she passed out?

We know it but when it happens to someone we know, it rings more true: You never know when you're going to go. It could be something as simple as choking.

I got into a car accident last year. My initial thought: "Ok, so this is how I'm going to go." Then a slew of thoughts flooded my brain within seconds, but I was able to process them:
Guess I'm not going to make the meeting.
No more work
My parents are going to go crazy
My brother can't live without me
Maybe it won't hurt
If I survive will I be paralyzed?
I can't spend my life in a wheelchair
No grandkids for my parents
My parents know I love them
I can't believe this is the end
I hope it's not going to hurt
Is the car going to fall off the rail?
I hope it doesn't catch fire
Goodbye

Then my brain shut down. Like it realized my body needed to prepare itself for the impact, so it turned itself off. I took a deep breath, tensed up my body, closed my eyes and waited. I later woke up in an ambulance. I cheated death. I then decided that all the little things that I spent energy being bothered and stressed about was just a waste a time.

From here on out, I'm going to choose my battles wisely.

I wasn't very close to my aunt. She's distanced herself from everyone. But she's dead now and I already miss her rare, surprise appearances every other holiday.

My first inevitable milestone for 2006.

Live life like there's no tomorrow, y'all.

CALLING ALL DICKS!

2006-01-30T18:13:00.000-08:00

I've been so wrapped up in my fellowship, catching up with work, starting new projects, re-ordering credit cards, license plates and time away that my cootchie hasn't been stroked in TWO MONTHS!!!

It just hit me earlier today, while I was driving and I noticed my cootchie contracting everytime a cop car drove by. Is it him? Is it Officer W.?

Why am I acting like a desperate wench? Then my brain would move on to other non-productive random thoughts. When I returned to the office, I checked my e-mail account to see if Piggy responded...Null.

Then I connected the dots:
I'm obsessed with Officer Piggy because he could potentially be my next victim which leads me to be obsessed with Officer Piggy because the actual chase of acquiring his dick reminds me of the fact that I haven't gotten poked in eons which has resulted in me being totally obsessed with any penis that stares at me two seconds too long.

You want me don't you? Yes. I know you do.

In times of great need such as this, I depend on my reserve dick stash. Since my (stupid) decision to clean stable, I have none. Dr. Dookie moved to Maryland for a better residency, which only leaves Big Dick Munchkin who tries to take the condom off in mid thrust. So I have no penial (is that even a word?!) reserve.

Is it time to tap into the world wide web dating pool? I've done it once years ago and that ended up in me getting a restraining order against the crazy bastard. Once again, long story, nother post.

Piggy needs to pork me.

YOU.

2006-01-27T18:34:00.000-08:00

I first spotted him in a meeting last spring. I didn't want to attend because it was after hours, but part of my job is to attend neighborhood crime watch meetings. Plus the Councilwoman for the district wanted to introduce me to someone she wanted me to work with for a project.

The project was to close down the drug selling club located directly across the street from my office. They knew they were being watched and hired a lawyer who began a crusade to slander my agency...Long story, nother post.

Something told me to put a bit of make-up on before I left my office to head to the meeting. I arrived professionally late, just late enough to ensure all eyes would be on me when I walked in. And there you were.

You almost knocked me down when our eyes met. I couldn't look away. Your boss caught me looking a bit too long, so he nudged your arm, trying to get you to look at me again. You did and I slowly turned away, making sure you'd catch me. We played this game through out the meeting.

After the meeting, the councilwoman came up to me and said she wanted to introduce me to the person I'll be working with on the project. We started walking to you and my heart began pounding against my chest. This is too good to be true. We professionally introduced ourselves while our eyes said otherwise. We walked out of the school lunchroom onto the street and started the dance.

We remained professional, exchanging business cards, swapping notes on the drug spot. In between the professional talk, you'd drop personal information about yourself. You're stressed out. Longing for a vacation. You're in grad school. You love your job. I did the same. I have no kids. Not married. Love my job. You're cute. We talked long after everyone left.

We worked on the project and kept everything on a professional level. The project was over and you were moved to another area. That's the life of a police officer. I'd never see you again. Many times I wanted to call you, but I figure, you never called me after business was done, so why should I?

Almost a year later, when my license plates got stolen, I went home and called it in. No one showed up. When I drove to work the next day and called it in again, you showed up in less than 10 minutes. I had no fucking make-up on, but I looked good enough. You looked nice in your uniform. You were more nervous than ever, stuttering, looking at the ground. Your hand shook when you wrote down my information. We did the same dance of dropping personal information. You were finishing up grad school. You're in a better district......

I found a way to get you into my office and I closed the door. I was planning on going in for the kill. Then you got a call on your walkie-talkie thingy. You had to leave.

"Well, you have my card, right?" You looked at the paper and wouldn't look me in the eye.
"Yes, I believe I do."
"Alright, take care."

The rest of the day, I couldn't stop thinking about you. You on top of me. Me on top of you. Us on the couch underneath the comforter, watching netflix movies. Your sex face. Your closed eyes as you poke me.

I gathered up enough nerve to call you, but the information on your business card expired. You moved districts. All I had was an e-mail address. So I gave it a shot:

Hello Officer W,

Thanks again for assisting me with my report. It was nice seeing you again. If you ever have time and if you're up for it, give me a call. We could do lunch or something one day. Here's my contact info.

Take care of yourself,
~Chubby

I threw the net out there in the universe, for you to catch...

RE-BOOT: Back to the World

2006-01-26T18:58:00.000-08:00

I'm back!

My ATL traveling nightmare placed me on the tipping point. Then when my license plates got stolen off the Benz, the very next day...Let's just say I was about two minutes from being 5150'd!

I decided to hibernate-to the fullest. I took time off from work, left my laptop at home, rented a car and drove to Lake Tahoe. I stayed at a friend's timeshare. I had no television. Just a radio, my cell phone, four books and Oscar. I lived on top ramen, tea and tuna sandwiches...and Oscar. I got back this morning.

I needed to clear my head and get all the negative energy out of my system. reconnect with myself. Remind myself why I'm doing what I'm doing and where I'm hoping it will take me. Reorganize my life. Detox.

Of course something happened during my stay in the snow. Ya'll, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried....

I went to the local store to restock on tuna and top ramen...I'm lying-I was buying batteries for Oscar. I had to pee so I asked the woman if I could use the bathroom. It was a small store and the bathroom was located behind the counter. When I was done, the woman asked me:

"Do you have any kids?" I replied, no and contiunued looking for my items.
"I knew you were going to say that. I can tell by the way you urinate."
WHAT THE FUCK?!!!!!!
"Excuse me?!"
"Well, you see when you urinate it sounded like you have a tight urethra. It sounded like a trickle. If you were a mother, it would sound like a faucet turned on full blast...."

I couldn't believe this crazy ass mountain lady was trying to have this type of ignorant conversation with me. I gave her a courtesy smile and quickly gathered my items for her to price them, so I could leave. She then turned her back and got on her cell phone. She started looking at me as if she was in a trance, like she wanted to ask me something, and was using all her might to refrain from asking.
"So where are you staying?"
"I'm leaving today, I don't remember the name of the resort." I lied.
I grabbed my bag and darted out the store. When I was getting into my car, a large white man stopped me.
"Hello, my name is Theodore. I own this store." So- the-fuck-what, I'm thinking and I nod, close my car door and start the car.

He's still standing by my car door, looking at me as if he wants to continue talking to me, but I ignored him and drove off. What the hell was that all about?! I felt like I was in some Steven King book about to be eaten by some crazy white people.

Anyway, I've found myself again, am ready to face the world and venture back into blogsphere...

INSOMNIATIC CONSEQUENCES

2006-01-14T01:05:00.000-08:00

I decided to stay up late Thursday night to go over my final presentation. I stayed up until 3am, fine tuning and revising. I managed to get an earlier flight out of Atlanta for Friday immediately after sessions were over. Woke up around 7am. A bit groggy, but four hours of sleep is better than none...Or so I thought.

Get down to the session hall. Did presentation. Nailed it. Started to feel sleepy. I'll keep myself busy by working on reports that are due when I return to the office. Get out my car keys. My flash disk is attached to it. Plug it into the laptop. Worked on reports for 15 minutes. Starting to fall asleep. Lunch time. I grab a plate of food and head back to session hall. I'm too tired to socialize. Start working on reports again. Three hours later, sessions over. Pack my laptop up and place car keys in laptop bag. Rushing to get to front of hotel to catch shuttle. We're given small bags of snack food for our flights. Rushing to get out of there. I place my cell phone in the snack bag. I'm so exhausted, I feel like I'm drunk. People are asking for my business card. I take out the items in my laptop pocket, looking for my business cards. The shuttle is here. Grab my pulley, laptop bag, purse and hop in the shuttle. Snoring. Get to the airport. A man grabs my pulley for curbside check-in. I follow him to the desk. Pull out my e-ticket from the laptop pocket. He asks to see my ID. Can't find purse. Where's my purse? Maybe I put it in my pulley. I don't need it anyway. I'm tired. Wait in terminal E-28. Snoring. Waiting to board. Pull out laptop to finish reports. Can't find car keys. Where are my car keys? Should call hotel to check lost and found. Where's my cell phone? I put it in the snack bag. Where's the snack bag? I left it at the hotel. Maybe it's in my pulley. Wait till I get to Oakland. Get on plane. Can't sleep, worried about car keys. Get to Oakland. Get pulley. Check pulley for purse. Back from Atlanta with no car keys, no cell phone, no purse, no reports. No sleep.

SOCIAL DYNAMICS

2006-01-11T15:44:00.000-08:00

Just about reaching the tipping point. I'm experiencing cabin fever at it's worse. There's a free shuttle that stays within a five mile radius around the hotel. I'm going to hop on it right after I finish this post, but I'm in a slight issue.

On business trips that last for more than three days, the people around me start to get on my nerves. People want to congregate after hours, get together and socialize. Have drinks. If you're a female, who is interested in learning how I do my hair, want to know more about my agency and/or want to start a study group. STAY AWAY FROM ME. If it's during professional hours, that's fine, but when I'm off the clock, don't come near me. Now, if you're a penis with a doable body attached to it.....This unfortunately is a rarity in my field. The Black men I come across want to exchange make-up tips and are cruising the next man.

I made the mistake of mentioning that I was going to check out the surroundings this evening and three others volunteered themselves to tag along with me. When business hours are over, I don't want to associate with you. It's personal time. The personal mask has relieved the public one of it's duties and I'm on the prowl for Georgia dick.
LEAVE ME ALONE.

I guess I'm a professional, outgoing person-Not a personal outgoing person. When I'm off the clock, I just want to be left alone. Stay in my room and order room service. I don't want to join your study group. I don't want to eat dinner with you. I don't want to talk to you anymore.
GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY SPACE!!

Dynamic: An interactive system or process, especially one involving competing or conflicting forces.

I'll find a way to ditch them and then I'll come up with an excuse when I see them...Wait, what's that noise? Someone's knocking on my door. I didnt give any of them my room number. Don't breath. Keep still...Musn't... make... a sound...

Stay Low.

MERRI-WHO?

2006-01-09T21:55:00.000-08:00

I get into the shuttle and tell the driver my destination. There's another woman in the van and we start to conversate (that one's for you, Zed).

"Is this your first time in Atlanta?"
"Yeap! I can't wait to get to the downtown area!" I made a wack attempt at trying to conceal my excitement, but my lips wouldn't cover my teeth.

The driver hops on the freeway and I look out the window, absorbing the scene, like I'm fresh off the boat. I look in the passing cars on the freeway, comparing the number of Black and White people. I start read-singing billboard messages out loud, as if I'm in a foreign country, learning the language...Beeehhll-Soowwth. Fox Fiiiive News.

What the fuck is wrong with me?!

I see the high rise buildings approaching. I get excited again. I begin visualizing my coming week: Tall, chocolate men calling me, "Mam". Eating at a popular eatery. Hitting up somebody's happy hour, wearing my new, hugging jeans. Positioning my ass on the stool, signaling to men on the prowl to come hither. Exploring new malls and buying something, just to brag, "I bought it in Atlanta." I check back in to reality, just in time to notice the driver completely pass the downtown area.

"Excuse me. I think you missed the exit." He shoots me an irritated look in the rear view mirror.
"Your hotel is on the outskirts of Atlanta. It's really in Merri-..." Merri who? Merri what?
I couldn't hear the rest of his statement because my ears started to ring with anger. I'm not staying in Hotlanta?

He reaches the exit and I spot the Marriott Hotel. It's right off the freeway, located near nothing but the highway. The other woman in the shuttle notices my deflated mood.

"You're staying in Merrietta, not Atlanta." Thanks for rubbing it in, Beeeee-yatch.

Oh well. I guess this will ensure my focus on the fellowship. I can kiss tall, dark, dick goodbye. Maybe there's prospects within the hotel and/or hotel staff. That would make this a perfect Chubby adventure: Work and dick in one location.

Easy Access

ATLANTA BOUND

2006-01-08T01:42:00.000-08:00

It's too early Sunday morning and in about four hours I'll be catching a cab to the airport, heading to the ATL.

I'm sure I've mentioned the CDC fellowship I'm starting. For one week, every other month, they will assist me with creating an effective intervention for Women of Color in HIV/AIDS prevention. Yeah, I know it sounds like some serious shit, which is why I'm having anxiety overload, insomnia, mud butt and there's a looming dark gray cloud of failure hovering over me.

I'm feeling as if I'm taking on too much and I need to cut something loose. This is a big commitment and working one more than full-time job and one part-time job, volunteering, cleaning the house, cooking, spending time with parents, friends, and breathing...It's becoming too much. My plate is spilling over. One of the downfalls of being an over-achiever. When I take on something new, I magnify the negative possibilities...Inevitable Milestones, my aisssss. What if I get there and can't even survive the week? What if I fall out from anxiety in front of the Scholars? What if the plane crashes?

Alright Chubby. Focus on the positive. I'll be in a nice hotel for one week. I can take extra long showers. I'll get a new laptop.I'll be in a new environment. Possible prospects to increase my currently scant stable. I'll meet new people in my field. I can go shopping in a new mall. It's the week before payday, but I managed to save $100 for this week, then I checked the mail today and found a check for $100 from a bill I accidentially overpaid last summer.

I'm still in the process of packing my bags. I took a break to watch the Zab Judah fight. I won't give it away for avid boxing fans. Now I'm composing a checklist to try make sure I don't forget anything in the midst of my breakdown

# Pack my bags....CHECK
# Clean the cat box....CHECK
# Sip a little bit of Jamaican rum creme to cool my nerves....CHECK
# Clean the house....CHECK
# Post notes all over the house, reminding my brother to feed Pooter....CHECK
# Buy new contacts....CHECK
# Wash clothes....CHECK
# Jack off to cut some of the edge....CHECK
# Change the greeting on my office phone....CHECK
# Calm the fuck down....

Relax. Relate. Release.

INEVITABLE MILESTONES

2006-01-03T11:31:00.000-08:00

I spent the beginning of 2006 in a hotel room in downtown San Francisco with Dr. J....Snoring. No nookie. No champagne. No fireworks. I'll save the rest for another post.

The next afternoon at brunch, we started the usual clean slate conversation. Most of you blogknow me by now and can easily figure out that I don't do new year resolutions. I focus on the milestones: The markers in our life that signifies a noteworthy event.

Some milestones are unexpected. Being re-located to another state for work. Family death, house fire, finding out your mate doesn't love you anymore, etc...Most of those were negative unexpected milestones. There are positive unexpected ones though. I'm in a funky mood, so I can't think of any right now.

Then there's the inevitable milestones. The ones you can spot a mile away, looming around the corner, peeping at you just waiting to drop that stone down on the road of life, ensuring that you never forget it. I have some inevitable milestones this year: I turn 30. The next victim will be #25 on my "list". My ass will spread. My nipples will start pointing to the ground.

We'll all have to face milestones this year. positive, negative, expected, unexpected. Learning from them and moving on is the only way we can avoid them from becoming roadblocks.

I'm in an Oprah state of mind.

TOO HOT TO FUCK

2005-12-29T11:04:00.000-08:00

And that about sums up my trip-ALL aspects of it.

How & where do I begin? First off, I've learned a lot during my mentally draining and stressful trip: What goes around, comes around. Lucky for me, I wasn't the one who was getting bit in the aisss. Let me explain...

Part of this trip was scheduled to deal with my (alleged) aunt who has declared that all of my mother's property belongs to her. I'm dealing with deep in the country, old ways, believe strongly in obeah, really believe money lines the streets here in the states and that Luther Vandross isn't gay. I ended up having to meet with lawyers, property surveyors, appraisers and property managers during my whole 2.5 weeks in Jamaica. That was during business hours. In the evening, I'd walk up the road to her place to try and talk to her which only led to loud in your face arguments that drew crowds.

This woman spent so many years lying to people about the property situation. She made people believe that we (my parents and I) were trying to kick her off the land and make her homeless. This has been going on for the past three years. If she could she'd accuse us of packing up the land in our suitcases and leaving with it. But with us being there each day, exposed her. Brought her dirty, bad mind shit to the surface for people to see, which made her even more desperate to cover up her lies with more lies.

Gray-A tall, dark, hung local was my intended victim of choice during my stay, but whenever we'd get together to fuck, I was so mentally stressed from dealing with family/property that I couldn't even force myself to get laid. Yes, you've read right. Chubby Choco couldn't even get in the mood...One night Gray whipped out his dick, thinking it would work. He unzipped his pants and I swear his dick popped out and wildly unraveled like one of those trick snakes in a can. But to no avail..

On the first night, the Broughton Welcome Committee greeted me with 21 bites...The first night. The second day I got stung by a wasp, which caused my face to swell up, till I couldn't see. By the time I reached the airport to come back, I had a total of 43 mosquito and sand fly bites. 11 were on my left ass cheek alone.

There were some positive aspects of my stay. Even though my "aunt" was evil (she supposedly did something to "make sure" my brother and I can't have any kids to pass our property on to), my other relatives made me realize the true meaning of family. They were so supportive, nuturing. The many after dinner talks with Uncle Doryl and Aunt Mirra, the dominoe conversations (the ones when we weren't talking shit) with cousins and friends....It renewed my sense of where I come from and who I represent everyday. Even though I didn't get to spend nights and early mornings in the clubs, snore on the beach or climb Gray's anaconda, I did enjoy just spending time with them. I detoxed from the fast paced, greedy, over indulgent life here in the states.

But of course like most detoxed patients, when placed back into the original environment, they unlearn, adapt and resort back to their old ways.

Happy New Year!

ISLAND IN THE SUN

2005-12-06T22:46:00.000-08:00

CHUBBY ON HIATUS!

During this time I will be:
Waking up to Roosters
Riding a bike down the road to Lost Beach
Waiting for the fishermen to come
Caught in an elbowing match with old ladies for fat fish
Snoring on the beach till lunch
Sipping on fresh fruit punch
Picking up sea shells with my cousins
Shooting the shit with family
Playing Dominoes with old men with no front teeth
Waiting to see who will pass out first from the 99 proof rum
Listening to duppy stories
Eating boiled banana and fish dumpling
Begging my shy female cousins to go to the disco
Pleading with my male cousins to take me out because my female cousins won't
Driving my parents around Sav La Mar
Making the motorcycle taxis zoom me up and down Mango Hall Rd
Modeling on the bike for the taxi drivers to take pics
Getting lost in Lucea
Arguing with lawyers over property
Jet-Skiing
Fending off men at the beach
Taking long showers with well water
Making a list of items my cousins want me to send them
Reminding them that money doesn't grow on trees
Listening to my mother's laugh
Missing my cat, Pooter
Feeding food scraps to the pet pigs
Listening to the frogs that sound like crickets
Smelling the hickory aroma of country air
Hiding from wicked Ms. Winnie
Watching Daddy get drunk and try to walk
Explaining to strangers why Americans hate chubby women
Helping Sudike with his winter break project
Teaching Demar how to use the internet
Cleaning the kitchen after Carol cooks
Fetching the goats
Driving the youngsters to Burger King in Negril
Fucking the first tall, dark man that walks down the road
Making empty promises that I'll write to him when I return to the states
Hitting Negril's tourist strip to buy trinkets for staff
Learning the new dances
Taking pictures of Sudike and Donjay pop wheelies
Watching Jamaican soap operas
Winding my waist and rolling my belly
Explaining to Uncle Shirley why I'm not married yet
Nursing my mosquito bites
Chasing baby goats
Willie Bouncin' at a dancehall concert
Getting conceited from all the attention
Hiding while cousin Mark kills the chicken
Hiding on Sunday to avoid going to service with auntie
Visiting relatives I don't remember
Working at cousin Marlons roadside bar
Turning down wedding proposals from Rasta Everton
Forgetting my life back in the states

SOON COME...

THINGS I KNOW I CAN CHANGE, BUT...

2005-12-05T23:54:00.000-08:00

In a classic family dynamic, where a parent is an alcoholic, my role is the "Family Hero".
I've always made sure my parents & brother were happy. I make sure things get done. My parents rely on me when there's a crisis. I got good grades, always made curfew, excel in any and everything I strive for and made sure my parents had something new to brag about when needed. I remember as a child being the family cheerleader, working extra hard to help my mother and father forget last night's alcoholic escapades.

As I get older, I know there are things in my life that shouldn't be, but I've also learned to pick my battles wisely.... That's the number one thing in my life that I know I can change, but don't bother to-My need to please my family.

Other Things I know I won't change and have learned to co-habitat with:

-Facial Hair: I mean shave every morning, or have a full beard type facial hair!

-Denial: As much I say I'm never getting married, never having kids, love living with my twin brother....I don't mean it

-Rice Krispie Treats: If you can't beat them...Eat 'em.

-Fear of commitment: It's a catch 22-I want to be with someone, but I'm afraid of the big C.

-Fear of larger than life statues:I'm serious about this one. I have no idea where/when/why this came about. I completely freeze when I'm in the presence of really large statues. I'll even pull the car over...I fainted when I saw Leo the Lion at Trafulgar Square and I cried because I was scared shitless when I saw the Statue of Liberty up close. Have you heard of anyone who has this phobia?

-My relationship with my relatives: I don't call them, when I know I should and I use the distance (Jamaica, London) as an excuse.

-Relationships w/Needy People: Being an Aries, people are drawn to me. I can't stand needy people, but I don't have the heart to tell them.

-Lack of Higher Learning: I've been putting off getting a MPH (master's in Public Health) for the longest.

-Funny Money: HAH-LAY-LEW-JAH! for Wells Fargo Direct Deposit Advances

-Junk Food: I don't have time to cook, I had a long day, I deserve it...These are my excuses for indulging in filet-o-fish sandwiches, chicken ranch sandwiches, Little Debbie Swiss Rolls,etc...

So there you have it! I know there are several things I've surrendered to, but I can't think of them right now....Or maybe don't want to..Another acquired trait of the Family Hero: Supression.

POP! POP!! POP!!!

2005-12-04T05:02:00.000-08:00

It's just about dawn and I've returned home from a night/morning of pure hilarity.

My agency had a fundraiser at Everett & Jones Bar-b-que, Friday night. I MC'd the event and did a damn good job (tooting my air horn). We raised a little over $2000 which was beyond good, being that it was our first stab at it. After the event, I'm walking to my car, thinking I should stop at the 24hour donut store to get a sweet night cap to pacify my craving for something I knew I had no access to. Then he called my name.

"Chubby!" My mother taught me to never respond to a man who hollers your name, or yells for you to come here. I have two legs. Not four.

"Chubby, is that you?" I continue walking. I hear quickened steps behind me. I turn around to see Taylor. I met him at a club in December of last year. We went out twice and I left for Jamaica in January of this year. When I returned, I didn't bother returning his calls. I just didn't feel like starting over. We made small talk and exchanged numbers, once again. We set to meet after I got off work ( I have a weekend, holiday job at one of my favorite clothing stores. I get a 40% discount!), on Saturday, which was 10pm. Of course this means it would be a booty call.

I got off work and showered. As I was getting all dolled up, I started thinking: Why do I have to go through all this trouble? He truly could care less and it's all going to get thrown on the floor anyway. I get there in 20 minutes. That little voice starting telling me to dodge and head back for home, but my contracting cootchie won the debate. He answers the door and he's in his boxers...I ask again...Why did I bother?!!!!! He looked VERY good though, with his dark chocolate skin, complimenting the clean white boxers.

Before I could sit down, we're at it. He's alright, nothing to waste typing strokes about. We switch positions: I'm on all fours and he's behind. Everything's going perfect. Right pace, thrust, talking, fingering. Then it happens:

POP! POP!!

Within milli seconds, my brain starts to narrow in on what happened:
What in the hell was that? Did I fart? Oh, lord, not again. I didn't eat any beans? Did he notice?
He's not saying anything? I don't smell anything...

POP! POP!!

"Taylor, are you farting?" He ignores me and keeps at it. I lost it during the first round of farts. I start doing kegel exercises, to get him to hurry up. It worked.

I quickly turn around, not even waiting for him to catch his breath.
"Ok, that was wierd." I'm looking at him, waiting for a response.
"I don't know why that happens, but when I'm about to climax, I fart."
"I'm confused." He gives me an annoyed glare. I could care less.
"Just forget about it, Chubby. It's nothing."
"Well, I didn't smell anything, so it's cool." He doesn't respond.

He changes the subject and after about an hour passes, we're at it again. THE SAME DAMN THING HAPPENS!!! I start laughing. The type of laughing when trying to stop just makes you laugh harder. I collapse on the bed and tears are streaking down my face. He gets up and goes to the bathroom. I laughed while apologizing for a good four-five minutes.

To make a long story short, I long wore out my welcome and now I'm hear typing at 5:20am.
Well, at least I got a little to tie me over until I leave next Saturday...

Must learn to ignore exterior distractions that blocks my ability to orgasm.

MY PURPOSE IN LIFE

2005-11-30T20:02:00.000-08:00

I've been working in the wonderful world of HIV education & prevention for almost 10 years now.

I've had frontline positions where I've trekked up and down the streets of the Tenderloin, Filmore and Bayview/Hunter's Point districts of San Francisco. I passed out condoms to sex workers, taught them how to put a condom on with their mouth, gave HIV tests to drug dealers while they were hanging out on the corner. I even held a make shift class at a barbershop on how to find the clitoris. I was on a crusade to get Black people to at least talk about HIV/AIDS and know their status.

The most rewarding position I held was conducting workshops in residential hotels to Black women. We talked about healing, self-esteem, the wonders of masturbation, negotiating safe sex with asshole partners-Anything to get them to stop for a minute to think about themselves, their self worth, their health, instead of what bill wasn't going to get paid that month, where their kids were or other life factors that made them put their health on the back burner.

I didn't sleep the night before I had to disclose my first positive result. He was 33, from Bayview-Hunter's Point. His girlfriend, who was a regular in my workshops, brought him to get a test. It was his first year out of jail. He was in there for 6 years. She was a sex worker for her boyfriend. Her regularly scheduled test results was always negative. She practiced safe sex with her johns, but she trusted her man and knew he wasn't fucking around because he was in jail.

They both showed up. He came to my office and she waited outside. I prepped him and finally gave him the positive result. He wasn't surprised. "By law, you can't tell my girl the results right?" He was right. He then told me he must have caught it while in jail. "A niggah can beat the meat for so long. After a while you don't care what you get as long as you get something." I stressed to him the importance of starting to use condoms with his girlfriend. His chest began to puff up.

"If I do that, then she'll know I got something. I can't do that."
"You're aware that you will pass the virus on to her if you have sex with her without protection?"
"Well, she be out there on the streets anyway, so I could just tell her she caught it that way."

A little over a year later, her results came back positive. He accused her of giving it to him and beat her to make the lie seem more real. That was one of the many reasons that made me leave the frontline.

Now I'm in management. I used to think that my job was meaningless, being that I sit in meetings most of the day, write grants and compose reports. I thought I sold out, staying away from the "frontline" and only worked with clients when I felt disconnected from the community.

But I now know that I'm needed.

If there wasn't someone behind the scenes ensuring things were in place, there would be no frontline.

WORLD AIDS DAY 2005

WHO FEELS IT KNOWS IT...

2005-11-26T01:52:00.000-08:00

MY BLOG IS ON THE BLITZ: I WROTE THIS MONDAY NIGHT- Well early Tueday morning...

My brain won't shut off. It's trying to make me face the fact that I'm lonely and it won't let me sleep until I acknowledge it. I'm not alone anymore. I'm lonely.

I could take a swig of Nyquil to knock me out, but then I won't wake up until 12noon tomorrow...Maybe that's not a bad idea-If I sleep late, it will cut down the available hours I'll have to spend money on frivilous online shit, when I should be working...

I just returned from a friends house for dinner and I was having a good time until I realized-I'm the only person there without a mate. Then I started acting weird. I started laughing a little bit harder at the lame jokes. I became more animated. I wanted to show them I was content and wasn't bothered by the fact that I was the only fucking person there without someone. There was my Korean friend with her Black boyfriend. The Tawainese woman with her French-Dutch husband. The Sierra Leone guy with his white chick. The chubby Black, jovial girl with null.

True Rainbow Coalition.

"Hey, Chubby, would you like to take the rest of the pecan pie home?" Why Bitch? Because I had two pieces? Because I'm the fattest one in the room? Fuck you.

"Sure, I'll take it. Thanks!"

I'm in a funk.

Everytime I close my eyes, I'm imagining myself spooning with this man without a face. For the first time, I have absolutely no desire for a man. Is this a dick slump? I have no one to think about, no one to fantasize about. Dr. J.'s not doing it for me since the puddle incident and he's the only one left in my stable. Why do I have to be alone? What's wrong with me? Shouldn't I at least be in a relationship by now? What is it about winter weather that makes me feel more lonely? I have central heating, so I'm not cold.

There's nothing wrong with me...No. Really. There's nothing wrong with me. Maybe it's time for me to start thinking about something monogamous? Oh, fuck it. I can't think about this shit right now...You're not going win this one, brain (as I reach for the Nyquil).

...I'm not looking for you to understand. It's just something I needed to get out of my system.

GUILTY

2005-11-22T16:54:00.000-08:00

There are certain things we do that if exposed to the public, would result in calamitous humility. Such as:

Request extra napkins at the drive thru window because you've ran out of toilet paper.

Throw a fist in the air and scream, “YES!” when the newscaster announces that the alleged assailant/murderer was not of your race…alright, wasn’t Black.

Take a “bird bath” in the morning so you can get those extra minutes of sleep.

Open a package of Little Debbie Swiss Rolls while grocery shopping and accidentally eat them all and hide the empty box in the sanitary napkins aisle.

Take money out of the “Tips” jar.

Jacked off to the sounds of others having sex.

If you’re guilty of one or more of the following, FESS UP! Don’t be Scar-red. If you’ve done worse, then tell it (you can always remain anonymous if it’s reeeeally bad)!

HIPPOCRATIC OATH

2005-11-19T21:21:00.000-08:00

Dr. J just left here a VERY unhappy camper. But it wasn't my fault...Was it?

I wasn't planning on doing anything today. I woke up around 11am. I moved my comforter and I directly from the bed, to the bathroom and finally to the couch. Classic ESPN had an Ali marathon running and the Mayweather-Mitchell fight would be on later that evening...My Saturday was pretty much planned. Then Dr. J called. He wanted to hook up before his late night shift. I agreed. He came over at about 1pm. I cooked. I was a bit cranky because I was in the thick of my monthly storm, but I figured he'd understand being that he's a doctor and all. Everything was going perfect-He only spoke during commercials and stopped when the fights came back on. After the fights were over, we waited for the Mayweather fight. We had one hour.

"Sooooo. Give me a tour of your place?"
TRANSLATION: Where's the bedroom?
"My place isn't that big. You know where the kitchen and bathroom is."
TRANSLATION: You're not getting into my bedroom.
"Is that room back there your bedroom?"
TRANSLATION: Since you want to play dumb, I'll be obvious.

I follow him to my room, going along with his game. You wanna play, Dr? Go ahead and play. I have a nice bloody trick up my sleeve.

"Nice bed." He plops on it and I remain standing. "Come join me, Chubby."

"I don't think you'd want to go there. We'd only be starting something we can't finish."
TRANSLATION: I'm on my period, you idiot. Consider this your first warning.
"I understand. Just come to bed. I'll know when to stop."
TRANSLATION: Ok, just suck my dick then.
"I'm going to go back into the living room. If you want to take a nap, just tell me when to wake you up."
TRANSLATION: This is your second and FINAL warning.

To make a long story short, we ultimately wound up in bed. I told him it was that time of the month and he claimed he "just wanted to cuddle". We start kissing, groping, massaging and all that. Dr. J's breathing starts getting heavier and heavier. He takes off his jeans. I laugh in my head thinking: You really think you're slick, sneaky Dr? Don't you know better than to challenge a woman while she's envying the fact that you're not dripping by the second?

We continue to dry hump and suddenly he lets out a loud

rrrrroooooooaaaaaarrrrrr!!!!!!

I quickly get up and see a large dark spot on my duvet cover. I couldn't believe it. There was a large pool of slim in the middle of my bed. I'm fuming.

"I think the fights about to start."
TRANSLATION: Put your jeans back on and get the hell out.
"I'm sorry. It's not big deal though. Just throw it in the washer."
TRANSLATION: That's what you get for trying to play with me.

We argue a bit and I dramatically snatch the covers off, stomp downstairs to the wash room and mumble strategically loud enough for Dr. Leaky to hear me. I stomp to my couch and wait for the fight to begin. He sits next to me and starts apologizing again. Then my hormones do the talking.

"This wouldn't have happened if you were a professional Dr. and stuck by your oath. Then I would have a clean duvet cover. You just had to get off. You could get your license taken away for this. How do you know I'm not crazy? I could be setting you up?"
TRANSLATION: Chubby is now possessed. EVACUATE NOW.

Needless to say, He left rather quickly. I guess that will be the last time I see him outside the ER....

Goodbye Dr. J (Goodbye Pork Pie Hat playing in the background).

THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM

2005-11-16T23:03:00.000-08:00

This is for the ladies-Hell, maybe men too, since you penis' also have a monthly cycle, but it's more mental...

Ever get that feeling of contentment right before PMSing? Everything seems to be going right, your skin is flawless and you find yourself smiling for no reason? You've got your weekday routine down pact, with nothing out of the ordinary veering you off track? You're getting along with people and even taking the time to listen to what they have to say, instead of just waiting for your turn to speak?

Then about five days later, you want to ram your car into the nearest Ben&Jerry's...You know, because it cuts out that whole parking and walking up to the counter thing.

While in college, I started (never finished) a research project on my notion. I called it the calm before the storm.I surveyed about 60 females and ultimately,their responses supported my personal hypothesis that (I'm not psycho)there must be a surplus of some type of hormone (I'll call it happy juice for lack of anything better)that releases right before we get bitchy. This is what I think:

Right before we PMS, our glands (I think it's pituitary?) empties out all the happy juice so that we can exert it, so our glands can have enough room to fill up with an excessive amount of estrogen, that causes our PMS bouts...Just enough to turn us into emotional wrecks. Are you still with me? So that calm before the storm feeling is that high we get from our bodies rush to use up all the happy juice so it can flood us with PMS juice...Am I making sense? Well that's what's going on with me this week. I'm in my monthly calm before the storm period (hence, the freakish confident look I have in previous post).

Moving forward, I think I'll refrain from blogging while under the influence of caffeine and Red Bull...

THE LIFE OF CHUBBY CHOCOLATE

2005-11-14T16:22:00.000-08:00

I'm an analytical recluse that has an unduly high opinion of oneself...and I don't have any friends.

CHUBBY'S LIFE, RATED
Life:	7.6
Mind:	7.2
Body:	7.5
Spirit:	7.1
Friends/Family:	3.8
Love:	6.9
Finance:	8.1
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

Y tu?

JUST SAY NO TO ALCOHOL...

2005-11-10T23:16:00.000-08:00

Due to my father's bout with the bottle, I've always had a freakish obsession to stay in control when it comes to my hard liquor intake. I obtsain from it.

I've been exposed to controlled substances at a fairly early age. My mother used to get lifted on herb in the basement while my father was at work. I didn't think anything of it, or wasn't fascinated by them, which is why I never had the "experimental" phase as an adolescent. During high school I only indulged in herb every once in a blue moon. I stayed far away from alcohol until last October.

I attended a conference in New Orleans. The hotel I stayed in was at the corner of Bourbon street. My friend, Linda tagged along with me to celebrate her birthday. She would wait for me to end my day of conferencing, then we'd get decked out in our party uniform (low cut top, tight non-camel toe jeans) and walk up and down the alcohol infested strip.

On our second night out on Bourbon street, I decided that I was going to soak in as much of this infamous strip as possible. The hotel was at the end of the road and I have a good friend with me, so I figured I'd be safe.

I started with a hurricane that came in a huge plastic bucket-like cup. I couldn't taste the alcohol, so I downed it as fast as I could. I thought it would work quicker that way. When we reached the other bar, I accepted all drinks men offered. The drinks kept coming- In small test tubes, jello-shots, sex on the beach...I think I had about four drinks. Then some cute guy, Linda and myself hit up the karaoke club.

I knew the alochol was starting to take effect when I kicked a white girl off the stage who was killing, "Bootylicious". I thought the song needed saving. I got on the stage and WORKED IT OUT! I was soo good the audience began throwing dollars at me. I made a little over $40. I was a brief celebrity after that which lead to more free drinks.

Everything after this is a complete blur. What I'm about to tell you, I have no recollection of and was told to me by witnesses...

Linda, cute guy and I ventured into a comedy club. We walked in and stood, stuck in the doorway.

"Let's here it for Jill Scott and the Chinese restaurant owner!" The audience starts with their chuckles and eewwwwwwws.

Then I allegedly retort: "She's not Chinese, she's Korean you stupid fuck!" The audience starts laughing even harder and the comedian tries to play it off. He starts talking about fighting with females and gives me the staredown, like he's about to do something. The audience is roaring and laughing. He still stares at me with bugged out eyes and holds his mic like a weapon. Then the alcohol did all the talking.

"BOO! NIGGAH! You got a problem?" I hate saying that word, so when I was told that I said this, I couldn't believe it. "You ain't funny.....!" After my long alcohol induced monologue, I was told the comedian dropped his mic and ran off the stage. Because of this feat, we were given even MORE drinks!

All I remember was the three of us (yes, Cute guy followed Linda and I) crawling on the hallway floor and ending up in front of my hotel room door. I managed to open the door and I closed it behind me. I left them outside. Linda's hair was stuck in the door. I plopped on the bed, moaning, laughing and crying at the same time. Then cute guy knocks on the door. I crawl to the door, opened it and he spilled into the room. Linda was still outside. I straddled him and we started groping each other in slow motion. We fell asleep on the floor in that position. Then morning came.

There was vomit EVERYWHERE. It was on the floor, on my clothes, on cute guys clothes, on the walls, on the bed, in cute guys hair.... Where's Linda?!!! I couldn't move. The scene was the perfect, M.A.D.D sponsored after-school special. I tried to get up to clean the mess before cute guy woke up, but I couldn't move. Then the stench hit my nose. It was shit. Cute guy shitted on himself! Thank goodness we didn't do anything. Where's Linda? I peeled off the floor and crawled to the bathroom throwing up again. I threw up five times that morning, not counting the previous night. Shitty Cute Guy woke up, embarassed. From the time he locked himself in the bathroom and ran out of my hotel room, we only spoke one word to each other: "DAYYUUUM." Where's Linda? A Good Samaritan (next door hotel mate) picked her up and let her sleep on their couch. Her and her boyfriend saw us during our drunken stint on the strip. They, along with Linda helped me recount the events:

They told me I flashed any man that looked my way (This explained the countless amounts of vomit covered beads sprawled all over the floor). The comedian really wanted to kick my ass after he stormed off the stage. I let a fireman bury his face in my tits (and someone took a pic of it). I started crying because I lost an earring and demanded the firefighters go look for it. I broke a heel off my shoe and I threw it at the hot dog stand guy. I was pinching guys asses. I bought a cigar from the cigar shop and threw up on the street from my attempt at smoking it. I tried to hook Linda up with a dude with the pick up line, "This is my friend, Linda. She taught me how to give good head. Black dicks are her favorite." I told Shitty cute guy that I'd do him and let him videotape it (I guess that's why he stuck to me the whole night). And the worse thing I did: Drum roll please.........

I threw up while in a club and I pushed a poor girl in it, while I grabbed on to her to hold myself up. Well, if she was heavier instead of a waif, she would have had no problem handling the extra weight.

...And yes to Sobriety.

DIGIT BAMBOOZLED!

2005-11-08T17:30:00.000-08:00

Until my December trip home to JA, my schedule is jam packed with meetings...This happens every year to ensure work gets done before people embark on their holiday trips, I guess.

I'm back at the office from a long day of boring meetings with people who engage in verbal masturbation (they like the sound of their voice), ass kissing and feather fluffing. As I wind down the day, getting ready to head home and re connect with my satelite dish (I turned it back on after disconnecting it to teach my brother a lesson on assisting me with the house bills...Long story, nother post), it dawned on me: I was bamboozled for my digits!! Let me explain....

I'm in my car at a traffic light. I just got out of a three hour meeting, on my way to another one. I'm concentrating on the subject of the next meeting. A guy walks on the cross walk. I look at him and think, "He's a cutey," and then my mind focuses back on work. Then I hear, "Excuse me. Hello." I look up and it's cutey. I roll my window down.

"Hello, you're beautiful. Can we talk?" He has a fading french accent. I'm beginning to think there's a "Come fuck me" sign on my forehead that can only be decoded by Africans.

"Make it quick, the light is going to change." I'm such a bitch.
"Are you spoken for?"
"No."
"You have a beautiful smile. I would like to get to know..." I cut him off.
"Here's my card. Call me. The light's green." I usually have this much attitude when I first meet someone. I don't know why, I just do.

Now I'm back at the office re-tracing my day...The man was walking, which most likely means he has no car. It was 2pm...Does he even have a job?...Was he short?...I didn't even get his name?... He saw my car and he's going to think I have money...Why did I give him my number? It happened so fast...I'm tired of chicken (Africans). I need to try some beef (anything BUT Africans)...Of course I'll go on one date with him being that I (unofficially) dropped Big Dick Munchkin...Maybe he's hung too?...Maybe he likes to give oral pleasure?

We'll see what lies ahead...

I'M STILL A CHILD

2005-11-06T15:15:00.000-08:00

I'm double blogging within hours, so you know it's crucial!

I just got in the worst arguement ever with my mother and all I did was tell her how I felt.

My parents have been here for over 20 years and she has not one friend. She spent her life working and taking care of her family...That's all. My father has his mother, who's his best friend (I know. That's unhealthy too, but I'll address that in another post) and the things he can't tell his mother, he tells me, being that he also has no other social network.

When they aren't speaking to each other, they seperately come to me to vent about the other. I just listen and try to give advice. As much as I want to tell them, "I'm the kid, leave me out of it," I realize they really don't have anyone to talk to.

So I call their house, to let them know that I'm coming over and my mother answers the phone and I can hear the tension in her voice. She got into a verbal altercation with her neighbor, A White, late 50s something, recluse who lives with four dogs and five cats. To make a long story short, she immediately switches gears and starts talking shit about my father, she wants to leave him, move back to London...The usual story she tells me. She then says, "What do you think I should do?" I tell her to talk to him. Because I'm not feeding into her frustration, pity party and this is not the advice she wants to hear, she then proceeds to bite my head off and tells me that she has no one else to turn to and I'm not being there for her. I've reached my limit.

"I'M THE BLOODY CHILD! I try my best to be there for you as a friend because I know you don't have any, but there are things that you tell me that I don't feel comfortable talking about because I'm your daughter, not your friend. You should be talking to Daddy about this and not me. That's how you can solve the issue."

She then bitterly promised to never tell me anything...at all, ever again and hung up the phone in my face. I guess I won't be spending my Sunday at my parents house.

As I get older, I'm realizing that there are some things I will never be mature enough to talk about with my mother. She sees me as her friend, and yes I'm almost 30, but that doesn't mean I can handle her bitching to me about her domestic affairs with my father. I'm stuck in the fucking middle and it really hurts. Part of it is my fault because I try to help, give advice, but I can't do it anymore. I'll never be old enough for this shit.

CHUBBY ON THE PROWL

2005-11-06T12:37:00.000-08:00

I just crawled out of bed.
I'm winding down from my busy weekend. It would of ended up being one the most perfect weekends in a while, but of course that's just too good to be true in the land of Chubby Chocolate.

I spent Friday in San Francisco with three former colleagues. We feasted at Buca Di Beppo and hung out at some Irish pub. I drank, which I vowed I'd never do again since my first drunken fiasco (hmm...sounds like a future post) on a business trip to New Orleans last year. But I sipped and stopped when my cootchie starting warming up. I got home well after 1am and decided it would be perfect to end the night with a good orgasm. Munchkin called earlier, so I figured if he can call me at ungodly hours of the morning, I can do the same. Of course he's still up.

Booty call + Both having your own place + 30 minute commute=Laziness. Lazy because nobody wants to drive to the other persons house. We spent 40 minutes debating over the phone which could have been spent on his aiss driving to my house. Neither one of us would let up. No night cap tonight. Maybe Saturday will prove better...

Saturday morning I attended the Women of Color in Community Leadership tea with my boss. I ensured a seat right next to the Director of Prevention in our county public health Department to let her know of the decisions her staff has been making without her knowledge...We got out our palms and scheduled a meeting next week to "re-visit" my proposal.

In the evening I had dinner with a friend and we went to Yoshi's to see Stanley Clark. It was by far the best concert I've attended so far this year. He even beat out Stan Getz at the Villa Montalvo which is tough. She suggested we go to a bar afterwards and I obliged. I was never into bar scenes for fear that I'd get with an alcoholic like my father. We kept converations with guys short and passed on advances. I kept drinking well past the cootchie contractions though, but I wasn't shit-faced. I had a nice horny buzz. It's now well after midnight.

I dropped her off at her car and started my mission. I'm not sleeping until I get the dick, a dick, somebody's dick. As soon as I pulled off, Munchkin called.

"I'm on my way over." I didn't want to start the commuting debate. I'll head out to the suburbs. I stopped at a gas station and saw a familiar SUV. He got out the car and I thought I was hallucinating. It's Dr. J. Before he could see me, I checked myself in the mirror. My contacts made my eyes red, my make-up looked old and my breath smelled like death. Oh, well. He's seen me in shittier (pun intended) situations.

I got out of the car, purposely ignoring him. I walked on my heels a little harder to the passenger side, so he could turn my way. I bent over into the car to reach for my wallet, knowing he'd look. I wanted to make sure he'd see how good my ass looked in my new tight jeans, after a month back at the gym. Chubby's made contact! We made small chat and I followed him to his place.

Before he got out the shower, I was butt-booty naked, on the bed ready to pounce. We began and he started giving oral pleasure. He wasn't that good, but I was half drunk. After a little while, I noticed his head was down there, but his mouth wasn't moving. HE FELL ASLEEP!!! How can you fall asleep while your face is buried in a wet, wiggling cootchie? I squeezed my legs, gripping Dr. J's head. He jumped and started licking. I politely pushed him off. He apologized and explained that he'd just come off a 72 hour shift. We made plans to have lunch next Wednesday and I left. Time for Plan B... I called Munchkin and told him I was on my way.

When I reached, his hard dick greeted me at the door. We managed to make it to his living room couch. About 20 minutes later, I'm speaking in tongue and holding on for dear life. I hear a familiar sound and my mind comes back to the world. Within milli-seconds, my brain processes what occurred: What was that noise? Sounded like a condom. It was a condom. It was a condom being taken off. I know he just didn't...Oh, no he didn't! He just took off the condom! He's trying to go back in! Push him away!

I knocked his midget ass off me and we argued for a brief minute. I put my clothes back on and headed for home. I now won't have a problem leaving that dick alone. Once, shame on you...Two times fool of me.

Time for Plan C...BED.

No more dick prowling for me.

MUNCHKIN CLENCH

2005-11-03T23:27:00.000-08:00

2am this morning, my cell phone rings.
I'm a light sleeper (if it's not a iRabbit night). With each ring, all kind of thoughts are running wild in my head: Someone's dead. My grandmother's dead. My brother got into a car accident...

It's Big Dick Munchkin.

It's been two weeks since our last romp. I'm distancing myself from him because he's catching feelings. Three years of training and he knows what to do, how to do it and when to change positions. It's rare to find a man with a nice package, who knows how to use it.

No matter how many times I tell him that nothing more will ever come of our sexual escapades, he still tries to move towards his goal of getting me to commit to him. I'm trying to take the high road and not use him for his dick/skills, but it's difficult. My other options are a Dr. who's time off is in the middle of the day, during the week and a bikini-briefed leaky dick bastard, who is now resorting to calling me from a restricted line because I won't answer his phone calls.
I answer the phone.
"Are you aware of the time?"
"Come over."
"I'm hanging up. Good Morning."

Seconds later my home phone rings.
"What are you trying to prove, Munchkin?"
"I want you to bring your sweet ass over here, right now."
"I'm hanging up and if you call back, this will be the last time you hear my voice." I turn off both ringers and fought to get back to snoring.

I call him much later and tell him to explain. He goes on about how I belong to him and I need to get serious about us...Every word he spoke moved his dick into the "Break Glass in Case of Emergency" category. This mashes up my whole program. Now I have to find another victim to train...

Why do men think that each poke of the dick, brands women as their property?

In my Captain Kirk persona:Must...escape...the magnetic force...of...Munchkin's Big...Dick.

FUNCTIONING ADDICT

2005-11-01T19:02:00.000-08:00

WARNING!

Bare with me while I work out some shit.

It's official. Today's events have solidified my supressed notion and it has now surfaced and I have no clear intentions of reversing it. Let me explain...

About 70% of my job consists of attending meetings. When I tell people this, the usual response is, "You're so lucky. All you have to do is sit in a room all day and talk." What they have no clue about are the various dynamics that comprises certain meetings. Thus far, the worse meeting for me is a negotiation meeting with a major funder for our agency.

I called the meeting to begin talks of utilizing our data system for their standardized roll out to other syringe exchange programs, because the one in current use produces inaccurate figures. Now this is fancy talk for the database they're using is antiquated and useless and isn't fit for agencies that do needle exchange programs. I came equipped with my IT guy, Data Entry Specialist and letters from other syringe exchange programs, stating that they would like to use our database instead of theirs and all they needed was the funders approval.

The meeting was horrible. The Program Manager who serves as the mediator between my agency and the funders, joined forces with the funders and they wouldn't budge. They wouldn't even look at our database! It took them 2.5 hours worth of trunked up, bull-shit to tell me that they are aware of their fucked up data tracking system and we would just have to deal with it.

I quietly accepted the defeat and let them gloat in their victory. What they have no clue about is that I'll be having tea with their boss this weekend, who will get an ear full from me, which will then cause her to reek holy hell on them in the near future. But I digress......

After my defeated meeting, I got in my car and headed for home. I started feeling anxious. Pissed off. Beaten up. My public mask was stretched to capacity holding in every, Fuck you. Bite me. Every eye roll. Every kiss of the teeth. It was about to burst. I don't smoke cigarettes and I don't drink alcohol. I'm driving home, frustrated, heart racing. I'm in need of a fix. Something that will calm my jumpy nerves. Something that will give me satisfaction. A pacifier that will decrease my heart rate. I NEED A FIX!

Before I could blink, I'm at the drive through at MacDonalds. "I'll have a fish sandwich with fries and a diet pepsi...And two apple pies, please." A cloak of guilt covers me.

When the woman hands me my food, I catch a glimpse inside the crack house of the people at the cash register. They have the same guilty, anxious, eager look as me. This is what I do when I've had a stressed day. I eat junk food. I run to the nearest dealer which isn't hard being that there's a fast food place on every fucking corner. I have rice & peas and curry chicken sitting in my fridge and I head straight to a fast food joint. I honestly don't remember driving here!

I get home, throw off my clothes and leave them on the floor. I wash my hands. I rip open the bag and dig in. Each bite served as a hit. A hit of, "This is not good for you, but it feels DAYUM good, doesn't it, Chubby?" Oh, yes it does. I feel so good. I devour my fix, exhale and lean back in my couch. You know that feeling immediately after an orgasm? The feeling that all is right with the world and life is wonderful? That's how I felt.

I am curbing it with exercise four-five times week, so I can consider myself a functioning addict. I'm chubby, but I'm considered thick, not fat, so the effects (or is it affect?) aren't displayed on the exterior...Yet.

Hi, My name is Chubby Chocolate and I'm a junk food addict...

BETTER LATE THAN NEVER...

2005-10-31T17:52:00.000-08:00

A - Age:29
B - Best Friends: Linda, Malaika & Neema
C - Choice of Meat: Chicken
D - Dream Date: Me tied to the bed... Idris Elba & Maxwell feeding me cornbread...
E - Exciting Adventure: #20 on my "List"
F - Favorite Food: Spinach
G - Greatest Accomplishment: Every attained goal
H - Happiest Day of Your Life: When I visited my maternal grandmother's grave site this past January in Jamaica
I - Interests: Reading, shopping, men, sex, sex with men, sex with myself, food, porn
J - Joke: "...Bitch I'm going to moon, I'll be back in a couple of days." "Please don't call me bitch in front of the kids." "Alright, hoe, I'm going to the moon..." Robin Harris in Mo' Betta Blues AND "The War" by Chris Rock
K - Kool-Aid: Nope.
L - Love: My parents, my brother, my cat, myself
M - Most valued possession: My health
N - Name: Chubby Chocolate
O - Outfit You Love: My birthday suit
P - Pizza Toppings: spinach, garlic, red onions
Q - Question Asked To You the Most: "How did you get your hair like that?"
R - Radio Station: NPR
S - Sport: Boxing
T - Television Show: Frontline
U - Umbrella in the rain?: Yes, with rain boots to match
V - Video: Michael Jackson's, Thriller
W - Winter: in London
X - X-rays recently?: This past May after my car accident
Y - Year Born: 1976
Z - Zodiac Sign: Aries-The Ram with sharpened horns.

GOOGLE-JACKED!

2005-10-27T22:48:00.000-07:00

I'm bored. There's nothing on my non-cable boob tube. I decide to play around online. I googled myself to see what would come up and the usual work related items pop up. I wonder if there's a picture of me online? I type in my name and click, "Image". I can't believe it. There's a picture! Wait...Someone else's picture. What in the? Who would do something like this? I'm confused.
I don't believe that there are ugly people in the world, but she looks NOTHING like me.

HELP!!! What do I do? It's not me! If someone were to google me, her shit compacted, constipated face pops up!! I can't believe this!

I'm so mortified...

Where do I turn? Who, what, where?!!!

I'M DISCOMBOBULATED! DISCOMBOBULATED!
OVERLOAD! OVERLOAD!
ABORT! ABORT!

What makes it even more fucked up is that I actually know who the person is but I haven't spoken to her in eons and don't plan on re-connecting with her...So what in the hell do I do?!!
I can't believe this shit!

AAAAAHHHHRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGG!!!!

In my panic state, I found the "contact us" number for google's website. I call, am placed on hold for ages and finally someone answers the phone.

"Yes. When I googled myself, someone else's picture shows up."
"So?"
"So, that person is not me and it needs to be taken off."
"There's nothing we can do about that. It's a free country."
"True,but I don't look like that and if someone googles me, they are going to think it's me....But it's not."
"Mam, nothing illegal is going on here. It's not like your the only person with your name."
"Oh, believe me, I am the only person with my name. I know who the person is and there's a big mistake."
"Google can't do anything about that." Click.

Did this bitch just hang up on me? I guess I deserved that.

I go on the website that has my name on it with her picture, and I e-mail Ms. fecal impaction to let her know that she should remove my name from her website being that I haven't spoken to her in years and it's a ghost website. Do I get a reply from her? Of course the fuck not! I'm going to keep checking to see if she removed my name from her site. I can't believe this shit!!!!

(In my Color Purple, Sophia voice) "If der's a gawd up abuv, pleeesze don't let no boty google me, dear lawd...."

ODE TO MY BREASTS

2005-10-26T18:35:00.000-07:00

Yeah, you've read right...I'm feeling myself right now-DEAL!

I used to get teased by school boys and fellow school mates when you pressed against the bib of my catholic uniform. I remember countless days crying all the way home, confiding in my mother about you two and how I wish you hadn't blossomed so early. She would dry my tears and told me there's no use in crying. "Get used to 'em, love. They aren't going anywhere anytime soon." she advised me in her thick British accent. She would then align my afro puffs and top it off with a kiss.

When I played hide and go freak it, I noticed the boys (and some girls) chasing after me instead of the broomstick girls. The first boy to tag me, would stare straight at you two, hug me and run away. You were getting all the attention. When I became the only girl in the second grade to have a training bra, the other girls got jealous and treated me like a freak. You became weapons that I couldn't contain. Weapons that protected my shy personality and kept my peers at bay.

I would do pop-ups, the Roger Rabbit, even the robocop while jumping double-dutch. I was bad! But it was you, lovely breasts that drew the crowd. I just psyched myself into believing they were mesmerized by my rope skills.

In middle school, I tried to shun you from the public. It was the MC Hammer era when things were baggy and the colors were bright. It was a D.A.I.S.Y. age and I was into dancing. You got in the way. But like my mother said, you two weren't going anywhere, anytime soon. You made yourself known to the world, even when I tried to mask you. You'd cause two big bumps underneath my shirts as if you were under pressure, ready to blow.

Then high school came and it was the time of tight tops. I began to appreciate you more as I noticed many senior girls were jealous of the fact that I had a perfect cleavage line in the ninth grade. Boys walked up to me, but they talked to you. I didn't mind. It was attention all the same. When we'd (cheerleaders) perform during half-time or at rally's, your fans would cheer for you and stare in awe.

Today, you've never let me down nor cease to amaze me. You're even more perky and soft than before, just heavier than grade school. You get stares wherever we go, especially when I dress you up in that dyshiki halter top, specially designed for you. Oh, you knock em down with a punch, breasts! Literally.

You get me that man everytime. We tag team and I say, "Go!" and you work your magic. I love it when you take charge and do all the thinking. You casually brush up against his chest, pretending as if there's not enough room to get by. They never fail to fall for the bait. Or when I'm asked, "How much did you pay for those?" I just smile, stick you out even further and say with pride. "They were free, you stupid fuck-They're natural."

At the end of the day, when I take off my bra, you sometimes surprise me with bits of food that didn't reach my mouth earlier. Are you saving those crumbs for me? Thanks, but not thanks breasts. I'm cool. Just another example of how you look out for me.

I love you breasts. Thank you.

MY MOBILE MICROCOSM

2005-10-24T19:32:00.000-07:00

When I'm in my car, I'm in my own world.

When all the windows are rolled up, they serve as a protective shield that makes me invisible to the world. I sing my aissss off... and I mean the type of singing when you make those putrid, screw face singing looks, feeeeeeling every note. I dig for buried treasures in my nose. I ugly cry. I talk and laugh with myself. I adjust my midgets. I fart. I scratch my cootchie when it itches (you know, after you've waxed, or shaved and the hair starts growing back). After a long meeting, I can't wait to get to my car and take off my public mask and exhale. It's like a home away from home.

I become completely oblivious to anything outside my roving planet and pay no attention to anyone looking in...Until this morning.

I was on my way home from the gym. I was blasting MC Lytes, Shut the Eff Up. This album came out when I was in Jr. high. I played that tape so much that it warped. To this day, I know every word, every break, every scratch on every song. Anyway, I'm rapping with Lyte, just as loud as I wanna be, which was quite safe, because I'm in the confinement of my car. I'm zooming down the freeway, doing the wop and emphasizing every, "God Damn Hoe, Shut the Fuck up!" with a bitch slap in the air (Bitch slap is when you angle your hand up and strike down, very different from a pimp slap which is a back hand, straight across motion).

Then my nose started itching on the inside. I start probing and I pinpoint the suspect. It was WAAAAAAY up there, which required much concentration. So I'm digging, digging. Completely focused on getting it out. I get it and I do what every other person does after doing all that work...View your buried treasure. So I'm looking at it and my peripheral sight is invaded by rapid movement. I look to my left and I see a GEORGEOUS man, looking right at me laughing his ass off. Now usually, I'd be completely humiliated, but as I stated before, I'm in my car. Just because he's looking in, doesn't mean I have to ackowledge that he's caught me digging in my damn nose. He's laughing like a hyena, rocking back and forth. I just look at him, roll my eyes and continue in my karaoke-mobile.

I reach my exit. He's following me. I get to the intersection and he pulls up beside me and motions for me to roll my window down. I obey like an idiot and he tells me: "I've been driving beside you for a while. Thank you for that laugh! You've just made my Monday morning a great one!" How in the hell am I supposed to respond to that? He doesn't wait for one and he rolls up the window and hops back on the freeway, laughing like an idiot.

Always putting a smile on someone's face due to my embarassing moments...

SOLITUDE SATURDAY

2005-10-23T09:31:00.000-07:00

My alarm clock goes off at 7am. I forgot to switch it off.
Before you get up, ever visualize the day ahead of you? This morning, I told myself I'm going to have a good day. It's Saturday, I have (a little bit) money in my pocket and half and tank of gas. I'm up earlier than usual and I have the whole day to do whatever I please. What's on schedule, Chubby?

I stay in bed dwelling on this until 11am. I have no reason to get up. Today, there's nothing that can motivate me to move. No nice breakfast, no shopping, no estate sales...NOTHING. I finally peeled myself out of bed to pee. To ensure that I didn't go back, I got in the shower. "By the time I get out of the shower, I'm going to have an agenda for the day." I took a very long shower.

I dried off and put my pajamas back on. I get on the scale. I lost 12 pounds. The gym is working. That's something to celebrate. I head to the kitchen and ate a big bowl of Trix cereal. I grab my book and hop back in the bed. "By the time I complete this chapter, I'll get out of bed and start the day."

I'm now half way through the book and it's a little after 2pm. I turned off the ringer on my phones, so I have no idea if anyone has called. I don't even care. I just want to spend time alone...Just me and my cat. The soy milk has kicked in and I'm dropping thunderous fart bombs, rattling my mattress. The scent transforms into sleeping gas and I take a nap.

I wake up after 6pm. I go to the bathroom. "By the time I get off the toilet, I will have a place to go." I go back to my room and put some clothes on. I'll take a drive and listen to my new cd's. I get in the car and start driving with no destination. One hour later, I end up at an outlet mall. I don't get out of the car. My cell phone starts vibrating in my purse. It's Dr. J. I don't answer. I don't feel like talking. I just want to spend time alone. I drive for another hour and end up in Berkeley.

I go to Rasputins and head downstairs to the jazz section. My new hobby is collecting old jazz albums. This came about when my 85 year old neighbor told me his music collection was insured for over $50k. The jazz sextion (did I just type sextion? Freudian slip...) was empty except for three sloppy dressed white men in a nerd huddle (comparing Coltrane's, Love Supreme Album prices) and a Black guy sifting through the used jazz cd section. He sees me and does a double-take. He's medium toned, with a small fro' and has thick rimmed black glasses. I head to the album section and hunt for Ella and Louis, 1956. I find a used one and it's $70. Shit. I slowly place it back in the stack. I buy three albums (Solo Monk, Gil Scott-Herron and Bird and Diz) and head to the donut shop. The streets are busy with Alumns for the evening game. They're all decked out in Blue and Gold and most of them are drunk.

I get back in the car and drive back home. I get back into my pajamas and bed and read the rest of my book until I fell asleep.

The only thing that came out of my mouth today was, "Debit", "Thank you" and "maple bar, please".

I'm converting to hibernation mode.

SLUMPED CATHARSIS

2005-10-19T17:13:00.000-07:00

I have no motivation, no ambition, no drive to do anything that will improve me and/or my life. I don't know where to go from here. It's that quarter mid-life crisis shit creeping up again.

I'm happy with myself. I enjoy life and all that. But I want more. I'm not talking about men or new dick...SOMETHING. I don't know what it is. I feel that I'm ready for the next level after establishing myself: I believe I can say that I'm established. I'm supporting myself (and my lazy ass brother in some ways) and I have a career, I'm healthy, happy (most of the times), I'm comfortable in my own skin, I'm much better at expressing myself/ feelings, I appreciate the little things in my microcosm, down to the fact that I am able to do simple things (walk, talk, hear) that other's would give anything to do. So what's next? I don't know what that next step is. There's so many things that I want to do and I feel as if I'm nowhere near obtaining them and I don't have the drive to even start.

I called the only person I could vent to and shared with her my frustration. Her response solidified the reason why I'm deleting numbers from my cell phone. She told me I'm complaining about nothing. "You have that good job, things that show your hard work, you have your health, you;re young and attractive. That's not good enough?" Then she invited me to go to church with her next Sunday. She believes the answer to my slump is to be saved? Holy Roller Heifer. I need to delete her number. Maybe I need to switch up my routine. Catch a movie in the middle of the week, visit my parents, don't wait until weekends to do weekend things. I could go for a walk around the lake, get a dog...Who in the hell am I kidding?

What am I pining over? Maybe it's time to go back to school. If I get rejected for the CDC fellowship in Atlanta, then I'll enroll in grad school. OK, that's something, isn't it? Then why do I still feel like shit?

Please let 30 be better than 29.

THEY'RE MAGICALLY DELICIOUS!

2005-10-16T19:01:00.000-07:00

The street I live on is comprised of Hispanic lesbians, White yuppies and Black senior citizens. We all meet every other month to discuss activity and goings on the block (we refrain from calling ourselves neighborhood crime watch, but that's what it is).

The leader of the group is "Nora". She's an Hispanic butch who lives directly across the street from me. She came by to give me a flyer for our next meeting. She also had a small package.

"I just got my cannibus club card for Oaksterdam and I made a batch of magic brownies to celebrate." How in the hell does she know I indulge every now and then? I invite her in and I try to make small talk and wrap it up so she can leave. Nora is an ex-vato, East San Jose gang banger. She seems to think I want to hear about her old stories about how she used to shake down men and punk dudes twice her size. She gets so carried away that she'll start shadow boxing. It's quite a show. Anyway, she gave me a fat brownie wrapped in plastic. Nora sat on the couch and was beginning a story about how she acquired her limp. I lied and told her I had to use the bathroom and she left.

My last high experience was last summer. I was at Reggae in the Park with my brother and ex-fiance. This girl was selling magic granola balls and I bought two...Remember, I'm chubby. I ate the first one and nothing happened...Or so I thought. I was half way into the second one and I got the munchies. I walked down the long lawn to the food section and stood in the soft pretzel line. I saw a White girl having convulsions, dancing off beat to the bass guitar. I laughed so hard, I fell to the ground. A woman helped me up and I thought I was hallucinating because it was my next door neighbor. My brother and I concocted a story about her career as a stand in for the Lord of the Rings trilogy. We gave her the distinct nickname Ork, for obvious reasons. We also think she's got a bit of Predator blood in her. I grabbed my mouth to refrain from calling her our secret name. The laughing spasms come again, tears rolling down my face. She made out what was going on and walked away.

It's now my turn to order. I tell the guy I want a soft pretzel.
"I want the biggest one you have."
"They're all the same size."
"Yeah, but I want the biggest pretzel. Put some mustard on it."
"Mam, they're all the same size."
"I want that big one in the back corner."
"It's the same size as the rest of them."
"That's a nice big one. Put some mustard on it."

Every note of music sang and every dropped bass line seeped through my skin causing me to dance during the entire concert. All three of us sucked down granola balls. I don't remember getting to my car, but when we got there, we had to figure out who was the least high, so they could drive us across the bridge back home. It was me, which should give you some idea of how fucked up we were.

We get on the Bay Bridge and there was (as usual) heavy traffic. A complete stop. My body felt like the seat belt was the only thing holding me down. I was so lifted, I had to shake my head vigorously to stay focused. My brother and ex passed out, now snoring. I woke up my ex and told him he had to drive the car. I got out on the freeway, in the middle of the bridge and we switched positions. I stared at him, making sure he didn't fall asleep. We get off the bridge and he says we need to switch again. He actually stopped on the freeway...I don't mean pull over, I mean on the freeway!

We finally reached home. We stayed, stuck in that car for about five hours. We weren't alseep. We just couldn't move from being so zooted. We stayed that way until 6am. I've never gotten high again...Until tonight. The magic brownie hasn't kicked in yet, but I've no doubt it will before I fall asleep. Wait,I think it's working. Did my cat just shake her head and roll her eyes at me?

CHUBBY'S DIGGIN IN HER CRATES!

2005-10-15T23:28:00.000-07:00

On this day, I Chubby Chocolate declare that the robotic, empty media put a moratorium on calling Real-Hip-hop, Old School.

Hence, from this day forth, the golden era of hip-hop shall be called REAL-HIP HOP.
ENJOY!
I'll try to change it every week to every other week. Here's my

HIP-HOP BLOG.
You can also access it from my Chubby Links (Chubby's Crates)

PEACE OUT TO MA HOMIES!

TAGGED YET AGAIN

2005-10-14T15:03:00.000-07:00

Here you go Berry & Alli-Babe,

7 Things I Plan to do Before I Die:
-Free myself of debt
-Tell my paternal family what I really think of them (during my father's funeral)
-Give my parents a grandchild (so they can leave me the hell alone!)
-Open a free clinic in Westmoreland,JA
-Retire Early, Healthy & Happy
-Publish a best-selling book
- Sit front row at a championship boxing match

7 Things I Can Do:
- Dance Michael Jackson's Thriller video
- Demand attention without trying
- Climax during EVERY sexual encounter
- Successfully take on challenges
- Mediate conflict
- Absorb knowledge
- Think Critically

7 Things I Cannot Do:
-Look at a hoard of ants
-Not help others
-Supress my thoughts/feelings
-Go a day without talking to my parents/brother
-Sit still
-Watch someone spit (We need to follow China's lead and make spitting in public against the law)
-Stand aside if I can contribute

7 Things That Attract Me to the Opposite Sex
-Clean, srtaight white teeth (with a nice smile)
-Dark skin
-Height
-Able to adapt in different situations successfully
-Humor
-Warm personality
-Has a sense of self

7 Things I Say Most Often:
-Like
-Yeah, Ok
-No Problem, man
-In regards to
-Come on, now
-EH?
-You see?

7 Celebrity Crushes:
-Idris Elba
-Idris Elba
-Idris Elba
-Idris Elba
-Idris Elba
-Morris Chestnut
-Denzel Washington

7 People I Want to do this:
No one! It's sheer torture!

QUOTE, UNQUOTE...REVISITED

2005-10-11T16:17:00.000-07:00

While in my sex induced high, I made a date with Thomas for Friday. It's 4pm and I receive a call from him to confirm: A little voice in my head warned me-"Chubby, now you know you should leave him alone." But I ignore it and answer the phone.

"ahlo, Chubby, deez iz Tho-muuuus. We are still ohn for toniiight, no?"
I hesitate a moment to confirm, then tell him he has to make up for our last date.
"No prohhhb-lem, I make it up times 10."
I must be in the mood for drama. I get dressed. I don't even bother to take the "date shower". He doesn't deserve a taste. I throw on some jeans, a tank top, a scarf and a little make-up...Like my mother always sings, "You neeever know, " Maybe his house mate is cute.

I drive to his house in Concord to meet him. When I arrive, he's waiting for me in front. He decided to refrain from the African pjs's outfit and was wearing a pink button down with black slacks. He approaches my car and grabs me when I get out. Can you believe this jack off tried to tongue kiss me? WHAT THE FUCK?!!!!! I push him back.

"The evening hasn't started yet and you're already messing up. Ease up." He apologizes and invites me in. I tell him we should go to the restaurant as I walk to his car. We go to a nice Mexican spot in Walnut Creek. The plan is to eat, drink, pat on the back and head for home.
We order the food and start talking.

"Why did you dis on (quote, unquote) me when we went out?"
I am perfectly honest with him and tell him every little thing that bothered me-From his trying to not pay for dinner to his reckless use of the bunny rabbit ears.
"Do you want some advice?" He's now leaning in, giving me his undivided attention.
"You're too eager, I don't like men who are too eager. A lot of women don't like men like that. When you're eager you do a lousy job of hiding how you feel. Just be honest"
"OK! I hear you loud and clear! I completely understand!" He did just about every hand gesture ever created by man when he made this brief statement, BUT the rabbit ears...He's trying.

We eat and walk around Walnut Creek and headed back to his place. When we arrive, I had no plans of going in, but my stomach decided to have the last say in that matter. I went straight to his downstairs bathroom. When I opened the door, Thomas was standing in front of me with only his underwear on. Thomas is an attractive man, nice body, nice bluge down there and all his teeth, but I was completely turned off.

This was his underwear of choice: http://www.a1clubwear.com/netcat/images/item754_1.jpg
in leopard print.

I was going to announce to him that he'd want to stay clear of the bathroom. Instead I laughed so hard that I had to pee again. Thomas didn't find this very funny.
"I am being honest and letting you know that I want to have sex with you. Why are you laughing?" Between my howling, I told him to remove his underwear. He pulled them down and his package began to slowly harden. It seemed to be happening in slow motion, because it wouldn't stop growing. He walks toward me. Fixated on his dick, I couldn't hear a word he was saying. Maybe I should give African-Frenchie a test drive? Then his dick starts leaking...I'm out.

He sees the look of disgust on my face. "It's only a bit of pre-ejaculate, that's nothing."
"Yeah, well it came at the wrong time. I think you should put your pants back on. I'm cool. If you have a stick of incense, you might want to utilize it in your bathroom."

I feel bad and stay,watching the news with him. I made sure the fake yawns were intervaled in a realistic pattern, to let him know that I wasn't staying any longer too see his leaky dick. He walked me out the door and I give him two pats on the back and leap in my car.

Must always listen to my inner Chubby.

THE ART OF DUMBING DOWN

2005-10-10T09:23:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I received a rare invite to watch the Corrales-Castillo fight at my uncles house.

CHUBBY FAMILY HISTORY: For most of my family members, my parents, brother and I have been dubbed, the ones who think they're all that. My paternal family is from West Oakland. My father was the only one of his nine siblings to venture away. When he moved to London, he met my mother, married her and evenutally moved back to the states. It's the 70s, in Oakland, and my Black mother with her thick british accent (and ahead of the time fashion sense) was now transplanted to thrive among my father's family (who've managed to stay within a 20-mile radius all their lives) who viewed her as a stuck up alien. They isolated her and eventually my father. My mother has no relatives here at all, so it was very hard for her. It still is. To make a long drama short, any accomplishments my parents achieved, only caused my father's family to distance us farther from them. When I was younger, my father would prep my brother and I before we went to family functions.

"When they ask you something, keep it short and don't be too descriptive. You'll hurt their feelings." Me being my hard headed brattish self, would never listen. But as I got older, I understood and perfected the art of dumbing down.

I arrive solo at my uncles house. He gives me a fake hug (the far away one with two pats on the back) and asks how are things going. Normal response: "I'm doing well. Work is going good and I'm looking forward to my vacation..." DUMB DOWN: "Just working and living."

I walk into the living room and am greeted by stares from the rest of my family. My parents haven't arrived yet, so I'm on my own. I take a seat next to a female cousin. She scans my clothes, then returns my fake smile. "I heard you got into a car accident?" I exhale and go into detail about the accident. Another cousin sees us talking and joins in on the conversation. We all begin to loosen our guards. Then she asks me, "So did you get another car?" shit.
Normal response: Yes, I got a 2004 Mercedes. I figure if I'm going to pay a car note every month, I might as well get something I will be happy driving. DUMB DOWN: "Yes. I just got a used car."

The conversation switches to work. They volunteer as crossing guards for their kids elementary school. They both don't work and receive disability compensation...They are both in their mid 30s and look perfectly fine to me. I listen to them talk about the wonderful world of cross guard and how hard it is dealing with difficult drivers and children who don't listen to them and dart out in the street before they give them the signal. Then one asks me, "Don't you work with people with AIDS?" Normal response: "I run an HIV prevention agency. Our goal is to try and stop the spread of HIV/AIDS among Blacks and Hispanics..." DUMB DOWN: "Yes, something like that."

She told me about some big bar-b-que they threw for my cousin because he got out of jail. I just don't get it. Pookie gets out of jail and it's cause for celebration. My brother graduates from college and he's a stuck up show off.

My parents arrive.
HA-LAY-LEW-JAH!
They immediately find a spot near me and we conversate with each other. My aunt plops next to me and she starts touching my hair. "How you get your hair to do that? Is that those dread locks?" I give her the short version as she looks at my hair in disgust. Then she says. "I couldn't walk out the house with all my hair all over the place like that. I make sure I get a touch-up every month..." The cousins I was talking with earlier are now snickering. Normal repsonse: "They are not locks, you stupid fuck and I like my hair just the way it is..." DUMB DOWN: "I guess I just like nappy hair." My mother who has long locks is about to say something and my father nudges her and gives her the, please don't bother nod.

It's sickening when you have to water down yourself for your own family just to make them feel comfortable about their own hang ups. I could understand my peers or people I don't know, but your own family? I know I'm not alone on this one and there's several others who experience the same thing with some of their relatives/friends.

My paternal family strengthens the crab in a barrel theory. It's not a good feeling when it's my own blood that makes me feel bad for having and achieving goals and no one should water down what they've accomplished or believe in to pacify people simply because it's foreign to them.

Exhhhaaaaaalllle. Whew! I feel better now.

DR.'S ORDERS

2005-10-07T15:50:00.000-07:00

It's Thursday evening and I'm on my way to meet Dr. J. I was going to back out at the last minute and pay munchkin a visit instead, to curb my horn-monal state, but I figure it would be an adventure (and a sick joke) to exercise my will power.

We meet in front of theater. He's wearing nice fitted jeans; not falling off his ass, but not nut crackers, a concert t-shirt (The Roots) and a brown wool peacoat...My cootchie contracts. Ah hell, will power gone.

We sit on a couch in the theater waiting for The Aristocrats to show. We try to make small talk, to ignore the evident air of sexual tension between us. If he touches me one more time, I was going to devour him in that movie theater. I go downstairs to get wine, so I can calm the hell down. I'm in line and someone calls my name. It's Thomas. I really need to expand my date spots. I tell him I'm on a date and he tells me he'll call me later on tonight. Yeah, whatever. Dr. J is now next to me and he has a wierd look on his face. We make eye contact and he sent a signal to my brain, that took a mere second to decode..."Let's get out of here and fuck."

Yes Dr.

We quick stepped to his car, giggling like idiots. I forget about my car, my hungry belly and the possible shit play factor. We arrive at his place which is not far from the theater. He parks his car in the complex garage. We didn't make it to his apartment. Within three blinks, I straddled him and his face was buried in my midgets. There's nothing like that pent up, eager, sexual tensioned sex! It's the BEST! I haven't had sex in a car in years...Wait, on the hood doesn't count right?

We finally get to his apartment, watch one of his netflix movies and headed to Jacks Bistro. Some of his colleagues were there so we sat with them. Apparently, this is the young black Dr. hangout. I make a mental note to go back alone. We stayed long after his friends left and closed the place down. We go back to his place for act two. This time we make it to his apartment...his couch. We make plans to have an actual date next week when he's off. He takes me to my car and I'm driving on the freeway, with the sunroof opened, music blasting and all my teeth showing. I check my cell messages and Thomas called asking to go out on Friday. I call him back, still in my sex content mood. Why not? There's nothing he can do that will turn this smile upside down! We make plans for Friday night.

When I got home, I envisioned myself opening my skeleton closet, throwing in the taco truck nightmare in for tight, far away keeping and locked the door.

A finally broken free from the shit, Chubby Chocolate signing off...

FAILURE

2005-10-07T14:27:00.000-07:00

Not sure how long this will be up before some asshole complains about it.

GO TO GOOGLE.COM

Type in the word, FAILURE without quotation marks

CLICK ON "I'm feeling lucky" tab.

OFF WITH HER CLIT!!!

2005-10-05T20:59:00.000-07:00

During the fall and winter, I read a massive amount of books. A large majority of them are ones that I've read several times over.

One of the books in my circle is Warrior Marks by Alice Walker & Pratibha Parmar. It's on female circumcision. I started on the first chapter this evening and I fell asleep while reading.

Ever have one of those deep dreams that are TOO REAL, where you wake up, and for about 2 miliseconds, you believe it actually happened? As I recount it, it was so ridiculous, but it seemed too real at the time.

I was with my ex-fiance, and we were visiting his family in his hometown of Lagos. I told him I wanted to go to Senegal. The dream zooms there and we're sailing down a river. Suddenly, a group of African men are dressed like Pirates of the Caribbean characters. They hop on our boat and start fighting us. They speak in some indescribable tongue and they slash my ex with a machete and grab me.

The dream fast forwards and I'm in some remote place in the Gambia, trapped in four walls of cement and lying in dirt. My hands and legs are binded and the five pirates are standing over me. They start speaking in english:

"We have been waiting for this moment, Chubby. You've been using your clitoris (He was speaking with a deep accent, but it quickly changed to a distinct, british, scientific tone when he pronounced clitoris) for pure pleasure. This is a sin. It's now grown into a penis and you don't deserve to have such power."

WHAT?!
I was slow on the uptake and didn't know what was going on. "I don't have a dick, you idiots, see for yourselves!"

One of the African pirates spits on me and they huddle in a tight circle and start whispering. The ring leader comes back and spreads my legs open. He starts to examine my cootchie as if it was a slab of meat. The other pirates gawk with shocked faces.

"It needs to go. You are a woman. You're not supposed to enjoy sex. Sex is to make babies." One of the pirates whips out my pink Rabbit from his pants leg pocket.
"This is what she uses to make it grow!" They look at the foreign object with disgust and amazement and throw it against the cement wall, smashing it into pieces. THE BASTARDS.

"You're an abhorrence and a threat to the African man. We're going to right this wrong now!" The ring leader has a rusty scrap of metal that was manually sharpened into a blade. It has dried blood on it. Then it sinks in. I start pleading.

"I'll suck your dicks! The whole lot of you! Just untie me and drop your pants! I promise my teeth won't get in the way! Please don't do it! I beg you!" The ring leader looks at me and he turns into Dr. J., but it was actually him all along....I don't know it was a dream. He kneels down to get closer to me.

"Will you shit on me then?"
"NO! You nasty prick! I knew it!"
"CUT THE CLIT!" He announces and begins a long, thunderous laugh.
I feel a sharp, burning sensation from my lower torso and I try to break free. I wake up, sweating and I put my hands down my sweats to see if it's still there. My heart is racing and I see my cat at the end of the couch staring at me as if she wants to say, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

What in the hell did that dream mean? That was a statement, not a question, so please spare me the analytical ladened comments.

SHITTY DR.

2005-10-03T20:09:00.000-07:00

I got a message from Dr. J on Friday.

I was on a payday induced high over the weekend, so I didn't call him back until this evening. I was eager to speak with him- I wanted to see if he'd crack jokes about my mudbutt episodes.

"Hey J, it's mudbutt." He laughs and moves on without cracking jokes. We make small talk and he tells me he had tickets to see Earl Klugh @ Yoshi's yesterday and wanted me to accompany him. He also informed me it was his birthday today and he is now 31. We make plans for dinner and a movie at the Parkway for later this week.

"I'm glad to that you're doing better, Chubby. It was really nice seeing you again." We chat some more and hang up. I feel funny.

He saw me at my most humiliating and stinky state. How can he in his right mind want to see me again? Was he turned on by that? Is he into shit play?
I'm definitely not fucking him. It will be movie, dinner, feel-up and go home...

Who in the hell am I kidding?! It's been three weeks. All he has to do is give me that look and I'll pounce on him. But I must be strong! He's into that R. Kelly stuff...I don't get down like that. But I don't know if he's a shitty freak, but how could he want to go out, after seeing me spread eagle with a shitty diaper?

All this shit talk is making me feel shitty....
Chubby Choco

FAG HAG

2005-10-02T16:01:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, I completed the East Bay AIDS Walk with my staff in the morning and attended an evening gala for a well known LGBT Foundation in San Francisco. They give my agency unrestricted funds every year, so my boss and I thought it was only right to cough up the $200 per ticket and get dressed up.

A night out in the wacky world of LGBT. Their functions are usually filled with drunk queens and butch lesbians, feeling each other up, or arguing. I decide to dress conservative being that it's work related. I hide my midgets and wear black pants. We get there and look out onto the ballroom. There's a sea of white gay men. I recognize several of them from sitting on various HIV/AIDS community planning groups when I used to work in the city. (I used to get into heated arguments with them when it was time to consider allocations for funding. They fund their white gay male centered organizations and left the residual money for agencies that targeted people of color and/or women to fight for the scraps.) Now I'm in a room with all of them and their buddies. It was sheer hell. My boss and I decide to get our money's worth. She heads to the free bar and I head to the buffet.

I get a tap on my shoulder and it's Sam. He runs a slew of AIDS service organizations in the Castro, which is the mecca for all gay men, all over the country. He was my worse enemy while we sat on the board together. I was shocked that he decided to come up to me, but when I saw his beet red face smiling, I knew he was drunk off his ass.

"Hello, darling! You look so beautiful! I know you hate me, but I was only a bitch to you because I wanted to be you!" I try to keep the courtesy smile on my face and I pat him on the back.
"What do you mean?" I asked with a nervous laugh.
"Honey, every White queen wants to be a voluptuous Black girl with an attitude! You haven't figured that out yet?" All I can do is laugh.
We make small talk and make a fake promise to do lunch.

I start looking for my boss and I find her talking to a group of women. I add myself to the circle and try to look like I care about what they're talking about. The woman next to me is wearing some African mu-mu looking gown and she has short sprouting locks. She stares at me like her eyes have x-ray vision.
"You smell so nice."
"Thanks." She gets closer, pretending like she's sniffing me, but I catch her eyes trying look down my top. I don't swing that way. "You look no older than 20. How old are you?" I see my good friend, David across the room and I almost fell on my ass running across the room to him.

David is a former co-worker (also a former Catholic priest). He used to find casual encounters online and fuck them in his office during lunch. He was out of control. He's a short, white chubby gay guy in his mid 40s, but manages to date only cute young black men. He also has a couple of young black thugs from Bayview Hunter's point in his stable. We meet every month in the Castro for brunch and he parades me around gay bars to show me off to his friends.

I stick to him the whole night and keep one eye on my boss so I don't lose her when it's time to leave. Thirty minutes pass and I'm ready to go. I spot my boss in a corner with one of the women. They are a bit too close to each other. I know my boss' partner and I already spotted a couple of their mutual friends, some watching her in the corner with this lady. I walk over to them and I tell her I'm ready to leave. She's stupid drunk.

"I'm not ready to leave yet. This is my friend, Emma. Isn't she hot?" I pry her away and get her outside. We're waiting for the valet to get my car and a news camera approaches us. A reporter asks if we don't mind talking about the event. My boss' drunk ass decides to answer for both of us and the camera man sets up the camera. He shines the bright light on us and the reporter spits out. "Do you believe that one day California will allow same sex marriages?" She shoves the mic in my face.
"Uh, umm.." I don't remember what I told her, but I know it was intelligent enough. My boss grabs the mic and screams, "I'm a proud lesbian and I've been with my partner for over five years. I don't want to marry her, but I should have that right. She's too clingy." I truly doubt they'll air it.

We get in the car and she pulls out an ol' school zig-zagged joint.
"Do you indulge?" I lie and reply, no. I also tell her my car doesn't have a lighter. There's no way I'm going to be that relaxed around someone I work with. She sticks it back in her pocket and starts snoring. Every now and then, she babbles something and goes back to snoring. We reach her house and I nudge her to get up. She looks at me, still buzzed. "Did you enjoy being a fag hag tonight?" She doesn't wait for me to answer and I watch her slowly but surely make it through her front door.

I get home and call my parents. My mother answers the phone. She sounds worried.
"I saw you on the channel 4 news at some gay function. Are you gay?"

GIT MA HAND OUT MA POCKET!

2005-09-29T17:29:00.000-07:00

I for the life of me can't get right when it comes to money management!

I'm the prime example of living paycheck to paycheck and I make enough not to.
During college I wrote so many bounced checks, that one company threatened to send an officer to my job and arrest me. I was so scared, I called in sick the next day. Then when I learned it was but one example of the many trickeries bill collectors do to scare you into paying them, I kept on writing checks. I've just finished paying off all my debt (except for school loans of course) earlier this year. I have no credit cards, so I've had to get skilled in the art of money finagling.

Over the years I've had many lessons learned in this battle between banking systems and my check card. I'm so deep in the trenches now that I have mastered the art of finagling most retail and grocery stores, especially when payday is peeping from behind the corner with it's tongue sticking out, teasing the shit out of me. I take their products and they get their money later...

It takes about two days before a check hits my account. I will write a check for a pair of shoes, with NO money in the bank.

I will order $14 worth of chinese food for delivery, with $4 in my account because their system can't identify exactly how much I have in my account. They take it three days later.

I know all the local restaurants that accepts checks.

I will pay the water & PG&E bill, check by phone because it takes a week before it posts.

I pay the gardner in two installments so I can buy clothes.

Gap and Banana Republic caught on and they do e-checks now...I stay away when I'm broke.

If my account becomes overdrawn, I call customer service and give them so much hell that they reverse the charges.

All my bills are paid over the phone or electronically because I don't trust myself to actually write a check and send it in the mail. It takes too long! I'll use the money for clothes before it reaches the payment center.

I make a budget for each paycheck. Good right? Nope. The purpose of the budget is to see how much money I'll have left over to shop with and what bills can wait until the next pay period. When payday arrives, my check card sends this high pitched, piercing signal to my brain that only turns off after I buy something that I know I shouldn't. I hear it when I'm broke too.

I'm now waiting for 7pm to arrive, so I can order these shoes in tan. It won't hit my account until midnight, which is the exact same time direct deposit takes posts. This confuses the system, so it accepts deposits first then the withdrawl.

Please don't ask how I figured this out. It was late and I couldn't sleep....

Maybe it's time to seek help.

TACO TRUCK TORTA TORTURE!!! Pt. DEUX

2005-09-28T13:48:00.000-07:00

So the firemen arrive. My brother lets them in. They find me lying on the floor in the hallway, butt-ass naked. My kanga fell off somewhere in between the phone call and the shitting/vomitting routine. A cute, black fireman stands over me. I hear footsteps approaching and ANOTHER cute black fireman stands over me. I'm too weak to speak, but not that weak. I suck in my gut. I make eye contact with one of them. They look at each other and one starts smirking as if he's silently saying to the other, "Damn this girl got some big ol' titties."

They stare down at me for what seemed like hours and finally my brother yells: "Don't just stand there, put a blanket over her. That's my sister!" The two lift me up and wrap a blanket around me. The ambulance arrives and they bring the gurnie in and carry me out.

In the ambulance, they start asking more questions. "So tell me exactly what happened." I'm still too weak to talk. "I can't...I shit...My ass hurts." That was the routine's que. It happens again. This time, nothing comes out of both ends. My dry ass contracts, I'm making that horrid gagging sound and I start crying. I'm so dehydrated that I have no tears.

We get to the hospital and they put in me in a room. They put a diaper on me and stick three IV's in my wrist. Fluid, something to make the vomitting stop and something else. I fall asleep. Then I'm awakened by the same ER Dr. I had a brief affair with earlier this year after my car accident. Fucking, perfect.

"You've had food poisoning, Chubby. You'll be fine. Just rest, we'll get some liquids in you and you'll be on your way." He's speaking professionally for the nurses sake, but his eyes are saying, "Good to see you again, when you get better, we should fuck." I try to talk to him, but my mouth is completely dry. I can't talk. I lift up my hand with the IVs to signal to him it's not working. He looks at my arm and his eyes widen. I look at my arm and it's more than quadrupled in size. All of the fluid has settled underneath my skin! The idiot nurse didn't put the IVs in deep enough. I try to yell and cry, but nothing comes out. I blacked out from shock.

When I awakened, the covers were off and a nurse was changing my diaper. The curtain is closed. Everything rushes to my head. "Dr. J. is here. He saw me looking like shit. My arm was swollen. The curtains are closed. His shift should be over..." Dr. J. opens the curtains just in time to witness the nurse wiping my ass as she changes my diaper. I WANT TO DIE. He quickly apologizes and closes the curtain.

I fall back asleep. When I awoke this time, my parents were there and they were talking to Dr. J. He leaves and my mother gives me that annoying look with her eyebrows raised and a huge smile across her face. "He's such a nice Dr.! His shift is over, but he stayed to make sure you were all better. I think he likes you!" She says in her thick British accent. She reaches in her purse and tries to put lip gloss on me and I shoot her a "don't you dare" look.

I'm fine now, working from home for the rest of the week. We'll see if Dr. J calls. I truly doubt it though, after seeing my mudbutt.

A humilated, but five pounds lighter Chubby Chocolate, signing off...It's Wednesday, almost Thursday...I can't sleep, so I completed my tagged duties...Chrome, I hope you're happy now. HERE YOU GO.

TACO TRUCK TORTA TORTURE!!! Pt. ONE

2005-09-27T18:23:00.000-07:00

Of all the many adventures, I've experienced, this one by far takes the cake. Being that the event is now past tense (by only a couple of hours), I can look back and find the funny bits, but while it was happening, there was NOTHING humorous about it.

WARNING: If you're squeemish about shit, then don't read any further.

It's Monday. I'm at work, in the office buried under paperwork. I'm working on a project right now, so my hours will be long...pretty much until I go on vacation in December. 8pm rolls around and my stomach starts growling. I get in my car and drive around the Fruitvale District of Oakland a.k.a Little Meh-hico. I was on the hunt for a nice chicken torta. I head to my favorite spot to find that the restaurant decided to close early.

Ever reach a consensus with your belly and tastebuds for a specific type of food and abruptly discover you can't have it? The torture is similar to being on the verge of an orgasm and the phone rings. I go to one of the thousands of taco trucks. I've always stayed away because how can a truck have running water? I just don't get it. But I'm desperate....The measures I take to please my belly.

I order the torta and head for home. I take off my work clothes, bra and undewear, wrap myself in a kanga and flopped on the couch to devour my torta and horchata.

About three hours later, my stomach starts to cramp. I head to the bathroom thinking it was time to relieve myself. WRONG. I sit on the toilet and it starts oozing out. After 5 minutes, I light an incense and leave the crime scene. My brother heads toward the bathroom door and I warn him: "If you value your life, you'll keep clear of the bathroom for about 10 minutes." He heeds my advice and goes to the backyard to piss...It fertilizes the grass.

After the bathroom airs out, I decide to take a shower. I get a horrible naeseous feeling, but I dismiss it. I have to use the bathroom AGAIN! I sit on the toilet and the same thing happens. Then I get that horrible, thick, warm feeling in my throat. It's now coming out at both ends and I have no control over it. My brother knocks on the door, but I can't talk. I'm vomiting in the trash and shitting on the toilet. I clean up, take a shower, wrap myself in a different kanga and hop in the bed. Food poisoning. It just had to get out of my system, I should be fine now...Or so I thought, my ass and stomach decided to further torture me for buying taco truck food.

The vomitting and oozing shit routine happens six more times! It's now to the point, where I'm vomitting yellow bile and my ass is contracting with nothing exiting. SHEER PAIN.
I'm so weak to the point I can't walk. I crawl to the phone and dial 911.

"I need... help...I can't stop... shitting...Come quick." My brother stands over me in complete shock. He calls my parents. My mother wants to talk to me. "Everything will be alright, Ladybug. Just make sure you put a little make-up on. You never know...." I throw the phone with the last bit of energy I can muster. The firemen arrive first...I'll give you the rest tomorrow! I've got to get back in the bed.

HOLY ROLLER HEIFERS

2005-09-24T08:42:00.000-07:00

I was in the city (San Francisco) for a meeting last week and decided to stop by my old office. Three members of the old crew were still there. We ordered Extreme Pizza and caught up. I've always enjoyed talking with them because we're all very passionate about our work and there's no competitiveness. Everything was going well until one of them popped the question:

"So, when are you going to go to church with us?" Shit.

I'm not much of a religious person. I've gone to church service twice in my life. Once with my grandmother while in Jr. High School and again with my "friend" in High School. During the latter visit, I remember feeling a warm, sensation from the gospel music. I wanted to jump from the bench and move. I buried the feeling though and had later been told, I was fighting the holy ghost. I don't know what it was, but I never went back. The church goers, I've crossed paths with are extremists. They find a way to incorporate God in EVERY conversation and hint to me that I'm going to hell because I don't go to church. It's cult like and it's sickening. I believe that there's something bigger than the universe and all that, but I don't believe I have to convene with a group of people I could care less knowing, pay money and waste precious Sunday sleep-in time to prove it.

During my junior year in High School, I was going to a Sade concert with a group of classmates and we had to pick up the preachers daughter. We piled into the house and he drilled us with questions before he allowed her to leave the house with us.

"Do you live with both parents?"
"Yes."
"Do you go to church?"
"No."
"It's a shame we all can't go to heaven."
"Thank you."

I've always been the victim of Holy Roller Heifers. They're the ones who believe if you don't go to church every Sunday or have a religious bumper sticker on your car, then you're going to hell. It's either you go to church or you're the devil's playground. I've had people cut me off completely because I refused their invites to church. You can't make me go by trying to pressure me. That's the one sure thing that will make me take off my public mask and read yo aisss.

So it wasn't a surprise when my visit with my old co-workers took a sour turn after I told them I wouldn't be going to church with them. They ignored my response and asked me again.

"So when are you going to go? Next Sunday? Just let us know. We can pick you up if you want..."

The courtesy smile disappeared from my face and I rolled my eyes. "It was nice seeing you guys. I think I've worn out my welcome. Take care." I grabbed two more slices of pizza wrapped them in paper towel and headed for the front door.

While in my car, I got a call from one of them.
"I hope you didn't feel pressured. It's cool if you don't want to go this week. How about next Sunday?"

WHAT THE FUCK?

I HAD A SIP OF HATER-AID

2005-09-21T15:55:00.000-07:00

After months of recuperating from torn ligaments in my right ankle (due to a car accident), I'm back at the gym. I like to work out in the morning while people are on their way to work. The gym is quiet, empty and I don't have to hear men in the muscle section yelling as if their trying to drop a load. It gives me so much energy during the day and I don't feel guilty for sitting on my couch watching netflix movies all evening.

My usual routine is two days for cardio and two days for weight machines. If I'm up to it, I'll go on a Friday or during the weekend. I do it to relieve stress more than to lose weight. I spend 20 minutes on the bike, 30 minutes on the treadmill and 15 minutes on the elliptical machine...Just thought you'd be interested.

So this morning, I'm on the bike watching the muted news on the big screen and my peripheral view is invaded by this woman walking to the treadmill in front of me. I say THIS WOMAN instead of A WOMAN because she was different than other women working out. She had the smallest waist I've ever seen coupled with huge hips and an apple ass. To top that all off, she had a flat stomach. BITCH.

Yes, I'm jealous. I know I got it going on, but I've gained a gut and if left alone, it will turn into that hanging stomach thingy...But back to this bitch. I do the usual comparison scan to see what she's lacking. No tits. HA! Bet you'd pay to have what I was born with eh, bitch? She's wearing tight white sweat pants, a white tank top with a white visor. Her disgustingly thin permed hair is in a ponytail. My hair is longer than your's bitch and I didn't have to fry it. Jealous?

She steps onto the treadmill and her ass shakes like jelly...My ass can do that too, if I angle it right. She starts stretching and she puts her legs together and touches her toes. I can touch my toes too, but I have to be in the horizontal position with my legs mounted on a guy's shoulders.

Her ass is staring straight at me. She stands up and reaches for the sky. Her body is the prototypical cola bottle shape. I have that too, if I didn't have these love handles. But I can work off love handles. You can't work out to gain this cleavage line, mosquito bites. Her thighs are perfectly proportioned. She can wear a two-piece bathing suit with ease. I can too if it has a lot of ruffles.

I know there will always be someone "better" looking than me and I know I'm "better" looking than most (Aries, confidence. I couldn't bury it if I tried) but does THIS WOMAN have to go to my gym?!

STUPID FUCK

2005-09-16T19:01:00.000-07:00

It's 7:01pm and I'm still in the office. One of the downfalls of being a boss. I'm taking a break from working on a grant proposal that has to be submitted online by the end of day today.... I shouldn't of fucked off my Thursday shopping in San Francisco.

I had to fire someone today. I've done it before, but this was the first time it got REALLY UGLY. I'm the Deputy Director of a non-profit organization. HIV/AIDS prevention is my specialty as well as epidemiology. Anyway, he's been working here for eight months. Six of the eight months, he's basically sat in front of his computer, doing nothing. His supervisor refused to tell me he was having a problem with him. He did this because he wanted to handle it himself. I'll address that in a minute...Bang up, fucking job he did.

For the past month, when I enter the agency, I see him on the computer playing online games. Being that I'm the boss (the Executive Director has been away for a year "feeling out" her hand in politics- That's the wonderful world of non-profit), I'd expect him to rush to click away from the game and pretend as if he's doing something else. At least that's what I would do if in his shoes. So this month I've pulled him in my office a couple of times about this, even wrote him up. He continued though, basically saying, Fuck you, I do what I want and I'm doing it on agency time."

I walked in this morning and he's on the computer. Before I unlocked my office door, I called a staff meeting and I WENT OFF. I basically stated that if I see anyone on the computer playing games, they're fired. No questions asked. I encouraged them to leave immediately if they feel that this job is not for them. My whole staff knew I was directing this to him. Can you believe this ignoramus jumped out of his seat and screamed the following: "I don't want to work here anymore, but I'm not quitting. You're going to have to lay me off so I can collect unemployment."

WHAT THE FUCK? I adjourned the meeting and told him to come to my office.

I wish I could tell you what I told him, but my mouth and brain was moving too fast. All I remember telling him was that he needed to stick around for me to type up his termination letter and have the HR person cut him a check. I also printed some guidelines from EDD that clearly stated that he could not receive unemployment due to his poor work performance. He wasn't very happy about that.

I called in the Programs Manager and asked him why he didn't come to me about the idiot months ago. His response was, "I wanted to show the staff that I could handle it myself. I didn't think it would look right to run to you about it. Even though you're my boss, it's kind if degrading that you're much younger than me. " DEGRADING? I wish I could fire his ass. Don't worry, he also felt the verbal wrath of Chubby Chocolate.

It's not my fault you're 55 and fucked away your life by drugs, jail and alcohol. This is the price I have to pay for working in the non-profit, public health field-Recovered middle-aged staff that have serious chips on their shoulders because they wasted half their life to have a boss who's the same age their kids. He sees me and he sees what could have been if he took the right side at the fork.

STUPID FUCK.

AHHHHHH, Exhale..... I've got to get back to my grant proposal so I can leave the office...I'm shooting for 9pm...Happy Friday to me.