Thursday, April 29, 2010

Time to Get This Hurr Did.

Yes, I just had an STL moment. Don't judge me. But the time has come to get this mane under control. The past couple weeks I will humbly admit it has been unacceptable. I feel bad for my hairstylist because I already know the work she's going to have to put in, but I love her for it anyway. :)

Maybe I'll post pics later since my new Blackberry should be here today. (And I WON'T lose it this time.) By the way, if you're ever in the "A" and need the hook up, here's my stylist's info:

Diana Pagan

I must be in a good mood today because up until now I wanted to keep her all to myself. Lol.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Thought of the Day.

Ladies......does the Kool-Aid Man turn you on??

I'm on my way home listening to the radio and the song "Daddy's Home" by Usher comes on, for the fifth time today. Not a surprise. No matter how much Usher has been sucking musically as of late, Atlanta rides or dies for him (or at least the local DJs do). It's the same way with Nelly and St. Louis radio. I went home this past Christmas and they were playing "Ride Wit Me" like that shit was current. But that's beside the point.

So Usher does his hooping and hollering, then Plies comes in screaming (why does he yell in like 90% of his songs?). I've heard this song a million times before, but I've never paid attention to this lyrical gem: "I'll pour Kool-Aid on you real slow!"

Yes Plies....because I'm sure every female goes into convulsions at the mere thought of being doused with sugar and water. I know Plies has a reputation for being a freak, but that's taking it too far. I've never been able to relate to the sexiness that some women find in him but even the slightest appeal he may have had in my eyes just went out the window, because if that ain't some coon shit, I don't know what is.

Monday, April 26, 2010


I really wish I would have stayed my ass in school. :( I know it sounds dorky and ridiculous but I miss writing papers and pretending to read those expensive ass textbooks and never saying a word in class but going home to debate the topics with my mom. I miss procrastinating on a project until the night before it's due and staying up until 7 in the morning to finish it. I think school gave me some sense of structure in my life. Now that I'm just kind of hanging out it's like: What is my purpose? Am I supposed to job hop and live paycheck-to-paycheck for the next ten, fifteen, twenty years hoping that a decent-paying job (that I enjoy) will fall from the sky?

I know there are success stories from all sides of the spectrum, but I feel like life essentially works out in one of two ways: you can start from the bottom of the totem pole at some company and spend years busting your ass to work your way up, or you can get an education. Actually there's a third option: you can do neither and die a miserable, unfulfilled life. I feel like I'm slowly inching my way towards option #3 and that frightens me more than I can explain. The collectors from Chase and Sallie Mae could have a hand in my fear as well. I don't even know exactly what I want to pursue as a career, but whatever it is damn sure has nothing to do with what I'm doing at the moment. I hate wasting my time on bullshit.

It's time to get serious. Thinking of a master be continued......

I'm Crazy.

No really. I should get therapy soon. I've been doing all this bitching and moaning about not having a job, and I started my temp job today and.....umm.....yeah. Not thrilled about it. It wasn't horrible, but damn. I've never thought of myself as the hyper type, but sitting at that computer for hours (and NOT being able to blog and/or check Facebook) was slowly driving me insane. More insane, that is.

Maybe today was just an off day. I planned to go to bed early last night, but of course I stayed up until 2 knowing that I had to get up at 6:45 in the morning. Then I was having nightmares and shit, so I don't think I even got a solid four hours of sleep. To top it off, I didn't eat before I left the house so I was starving the whole time I was working. I can never concentrate when I'm hungry. Plus I'm still kind of on edge because I don't feel like this is a REAL job. Like, my ass could get cut off at the drop of a hat if the bank decides they don't need me. I hate up-in-the-air shit, but I have to take what I can get for now I suppose.

I love money, I just hate working. Everyone feels that way in a sense though, right?

Friday, April 23, 2010


Phone conversation with my mom:

Me: Hey, what are you doing?
Mom: Just chilling, watching "Their Eyes Were Watching God" on LMN.
Me: *Clutches heart* Isn't that the movie with my husband in it?
Mom: Who's your husband?
Me: (sighs and rolls eyes) Michael Ealy.
Mom: Oh, I didn't know that was your "husband."
Me: Yes, he's pretty hot.
Mom: Yeah he's a cutie....isn't he too old for you?
Me: Mom! He's only like 30-something.
Mom: Yeah, and that's too old for you.....

How could she say such a thing?! I have a philosophy. It's only gross to date an older man if he LOOKS old. Of course people would cringe if I were out and about holding hands with a balding man who's happily showing off his beer gut. But if it's a sexy man (like my husband pictured above) who can pass for a 25-year-old, really, what's the harm?

By the way, there's really no point to this post. I just wanted to put up a pic of Michael Ealy's beautiful face. =)

Oh No.

I didn't realize that today is Friday, so there probably won't be many posts by my favorite bloggers. What am I going to do with my life?! Blogs have become my sole source of entertainment lately, as Facebook bores me to tears, and I still can't bring myself to get a Twitter. (Although I find myself using the # sign in front of my words sometimes, oddly enough. Lame, I know.)

I could do some more job hunting I not really. I'm not being a lazy bitch, but I have hustled all week in my search for employment and I think I've been semi-successful. I had orientation for a temp job yesterday morning, and I just got a call for an interview at Victoria's Secret next Tuesday. I'm still broke since this damn unemployment hasn't been deposited into my account yet. I got a call saying that I should get the money today....or Monday....or Tuesday. Grrrr. In other words, I have to give up on food for the next few days.

No clubbing for me this weekend. Gotta save that gas for my interview. I did realize today that I haven't partied, partied, partied and gotten wasted since the day before my birthday, which was exactly three weeks ago. Unacceptable. Maybe I can squeeze out a few dollars to buy chaser for that big ass bottle of Svedka in the freezer. And then I'll party right here at the crib. Cuz I'm cool like that.

Anyway, just felt like doing a post since I don't have shit else to do. Hope everyone enjoys their weekend.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Technical Difficulties.

I got the bright idea to play around with the blog layout, so if it looks a little crazy please bear with me.

P.S. If anyone knows how to create a blog template or any of that other good stuff, the help would be greatly appreciated. =)

Tuesday, April 20, 2010


I have a love/hate relationship with the rain. I love it because it makes me want to sleep all day. I hate it makes me want to sleep all day.

I don't think people understand how much of a problem it would be if I got a job at the mall. Me working at the mall is the equivalent of a recovering alcoholic working in a liquor store. No bueno.

I'm annoyed that my mom only called me today to chew me out about not making a $200 payment on a student loan that she co-signed with me. "I thought you said you were going to pay it?" Pay it with what? This abundance of cash coming out of my ass? Have you been under a rock this whole time Mom? I don't have a fucking job! No worries, next time I'll forfeit buying groceries so I can send Sallie Mae their money.

Wendy's is the shit.

I may need to break down and get a sugar daddy soon. Paying bills on your own is no fun.

Why do people still think I'm under 18?

I didn't realize that today is "420." Might be nice to smoke something, since I apparently already have the reputation of being a drug user.

Monday, April 19, 2010

If You Don't Have Anything Nice to Say, Shut the Fuck Up.

Sigh. It never fails. I get some awesomely good news after a long string of unfortunate events, then some petty motherfucker comes tra-la-la-ing along throwing shade. Usually I would get pissed and focus all my energy on it, but I'm just going to blog about it right quick and keep it moving.

I'm skinny. Everyone knows it, I know it, I see it in the mirror everyday. For some reason though, folks feel the need to TELL me just how skinny I am as if this is news to me. I've dealt with it all my life, but that doesn't mean I'm cool when people look at me and exclaim, "Damn girl, you need to eat a burger or SOMETHING!"

Which brings me to this particular incident. My roommate posted some pics last night on Facebook that we took the weekend of my birthday. I log into my account this morning and there's a notification that my roommate's cousin made a comment on one of the photos. I go to the photo, which was taken of me and two of my roommates at the bar. Underneath it the comment reads: "Are you guys starving that poor girl?" He's obviously referring to me since my other roommate is a guy, and my female roommate is not as thin as I am.

This gets under my skin a bit. I've met this cousin in person on one prior occasion, and he immediately struck me as one of those irritating individuals that feels the need to childishly blurt out the first thing that comes to their mind, regardless of how tactless it may sound to others. During the brief time I interacted with him, he commented on how slowly I ate my food, and implied that I was "from the ghetto" simply because I went to Clark Atlanta University. Needless to say, he irked the shit out of me. This Facebook comment is yet another example of his verbal diarrhea (or keyboard diarrhea, in this instance?). The bitch in me is tempted to write a long-ass paragraph schooling him on the high metabolism, stress, and economic hardship that are all possible factors in my lean appearance. But I stop myself. I don't have to explain myself to this motherfucker. If I WERE starving, is he going to send any food or money to help me out? Hell no.

I decide to take the tried and true route in my life: sarcasm. My response: "Yes, starving is the new trend here in Atlanta." And I'm done. Even if a comment is made afterward, I have nothing else to say. I think some people are just destined to be ignorant. I don't think I will ever understand how it has become perfectly acceptable to make demeaning comments towards thin people, and at the same time most of America will be ready to burn you at the stake if you say something rude about a fat person. For instance if I were a heavyset girl and he had said, "Damn, how many Big Macs have y'all been feeding that girl?" I'm sure all of Facebook would have been up in arms about it. Yet the thought would never even cross his small mind to make a comment like that. So why is it so easy to make a silly assumption about my weight?

Friday, April 16, 2010

Good News.

I thought I would post a positive update on my life, since most of them have been dark and gloomy up until now. Lol.

So I got fired from my job, and I remember blogging about that, but I don't know if I also mentioned somewhere that I had been denied unemployment benefits as well. My former employer's reason for denying benefits is because I was "aware of their requirements" and I "failed to follow instructions." Bullshit. Something in me won't let it go without a fight and I immediately go to the Department of Labor office and appeal the decision. This leads to another long period of waiting for the Appeals office to schedule a hearing.

I finally get my notice in the mail stating that a telephone hearing will be held on April 9th. I gather all the evidence I have for my case, including the form I have from the clinic stating that they were closed the morning I went in, phone records showing that I called the clinic, the whole nine yards. Then I anxiously wait for my hearing date, wondering what will be said to make it seem as if I was the insubordinate or negligent employee during the incident. I speak with a lawyer a couple days before my hearing to get her opinion on what to expect. When she finds out the hearing will be via telephone and not in person, she tells me this is a bad sign. Uh-oh. According to her, an in-person hearing makes it harder for the former employer to show up and argue their case. That thought had crossed my mind but I didn't think it would have a huge effect. Damn. It's too late for me to request an in-person hearing so I force myself to think happy thoughts and go through with the hearing as scheduled.

The 9th comes around and I get a phone call from the hearing officer. She puts me on hold while she contacts someone to represent my former employer. Moments later she gets back on the line and introduces the person who will be representing the opposite side as Ms. Schwartz, the payroll coordinator. My first thought is, "Who the hell is Ms. Schwartz?" I had never heard of or seen this woman the whole seven months I was on my job, and I'm confused about why she has been chosen to represent the company in an unemployment appeal hearing. I thought my supervisor would have been involved, or the bitch from Human Resources that suspended me. I figure this is probably just some trick they have up their sleeves and brace myself. The hearing officer swears us in, then begins to question Ms. Schwartz on my termination. From her answers, I can tell this woman is simply reading from whatever is in my personnel file. She states that the manager of the department I worked in terminated me, when I know that it was actually my supervisor. She reads the company drug policy that states that any employee found under the influence while on duty will be terminated immediately. Okay. And what does that have to do with me? Then she puts us on hold while she looks for the portion of the company policy that discusses an employee's refusal to submit to a drug screening. She gets back on the line and reads: "Any employee that refuses to submit to drug testing will immediately be terminated." And again.....what does that have to do with me?

She finishes her testimony, then it's my turn. The hearing officer questions me on why I did not take my drug test, and I tell her the clinic was closed when I went in for testing. I request that the form I obtained from the clinic be submitted as evidence. I attempt to submit my phone records as evidence as well, but the hearing officer says I don't need them since Ms. Schwartz has not objected to the fact that I called the clinic that morning. Then we are given a chance to make a final statement. Ms. Schwartz explains that this is her first time dealing with an unemployment appeal, that she doesn't know much about my case, and she thinks it would be better if my supervisor or someone from the Human Resources department gets on the phone. The hearing officer stops her, saying, "Ms. Schwartz, I asked you at the beginning of the hearing if you had any witnesses and you said no. We are now closing the hearing." I can't help but smile a little when she says that. And that's the end of it.

Now I get to wait some more to find out the officer's decision. Talk about nerve-wracking. In my opinion, I feel that my former job did nothing to prove that I did anything wrong in the situation, especially since they put some random-ass person on the phone to represent them. But I can't get too excited, because I have gotten my hopes up before thinking I would come across some logical people throughout this whole ordeal, and I have been sadly mistaken. I call the Appeals office on Tuesday to find out if they have made a decision, and I am told they haven't. The woman on the phone says they usually make a decision the day of the hearing. Oh Lord. What does that mean?

Fast-forward to this afternoon. I am in my room getting depressed after looking at my bank account, then I get up to use the bathroom. My roommate has left my mail outside my door, and there is a letter from the Georgia Department of Labor. My heart starts racing and I rip it open. I skim through it, looking for a "yay or nay" statement. Then I see it. "The employer has failed to show that the claimant refused to take a drug test....Benefits are allowed."

I have to read it a couple more times to make sure I'm reading it right. Then I toss the letter down and do a corny-ass little two-step. Then I call my mom and give her the good news. I don't think I can even explain in words how much of a relief this is, as well as validation that I wasn't wrong in the situation at my job. After too many losses to mention, I finally feel like I got a victory. Hopefully this is one of many to come.

Sappy Shit.

I don't know why a certain someone is on my mind right now. I have some sappy thoughts and I figure I better get them out before this rare moment passes.

I always wonder if it's really true that you only have one soulmate, and that even if you end up marrying someone else and starting a family and all that, that one person is still your soulmate. I kinda feel that way, and it's the strangest feeling because I'm not mushy/sentimental at all. I actually do my best to give the impression that I have no emotions whatsoever. So why is it that no matter where I go, or what I do, or who I talk to, I end up thinking about this one person and comparing every guy that I talk HIM? Random as hell. I can be sitting across the table from a guy having a decent conversation and then I start thinking about something funny that he said a long time ago.

Another thing is that I am picky and critical as hell, but I can't think of anything particularly annoying about this one individual. Except for the fact that he seems to change his number every other month, and whenever I think of him and get the nerve to call, his damn number is disconnected. Sometimes he'll call me from a random number out of the blue, but we end up talking like we never lost touch. I keep hoping that one of those "out-of-the-blue" moments will happen soon. I miss him.

I'm going to stop now. All this mushy shit is making me itch.

Wednesday, April 14, 2010


I think my mom told me in so many words today that I shouldn't go to school to become a nurse. =/ Yes it was a random decision I recently made because I want a job that pays a lot, but still. Instead she says I should get into a program dealing with Medical Billing/Coding since I'm good at typing/writing and whatnot.

I don't know. I read somewhere that data entry jobs are being phased out due to heavier reliance on computers. Either that or they are being given to people in India and other Middle Eastern countries because they work more for less money. I don't know how true that is, but I know I would be one angry Negro if I went to school for another two years to get a degree and find out there are no jobs available for me. This might sound morbid, but people are always going to get sick, and they're always going to die, so you're pretty much guaranteed a job if you go into nursing. At least that's what Google told me.

It's funny because when I was little my dream was to move to New York and be a famous fashion designer. Now I'm just trying to get to where the money is. Interesting how dreams change once bills and reality get involved.

Shit On My Mind.

It could just be me, but I've come to realize that I don't have any real friends around me at the moment. Maybe I've gotten more paranoid since moving away from home, or maybe people just really ain't shit. Either way, it seems that even the few people that I choose to have in my circle only want to be around me because of what I can do for them.

And I'm not saying "what I can do for them" as if I have so much to offer. It's the little things I'm willing to do that I feel have been taken for granted. For the most part, I am extremely laid-back and will be down for whatever. You want to go see a movie? Cool. You feel like taking a road trip? Sounds good to me. I never have an objection to much of anything, even if it's not something that I am crazy about doing. I think this is a quality that people love, but it can also work to my disadvantage. It seems that people have the mindset that I don't have an opinion, and even if I do, they don't care to hear it. It's gotten to the point that when I do voice my opinion, I am either ignored or I get a "look" implying that I am being bitchy. I guess when people settle into certain roles and you allow yourself to be put into a certain role, it's hard to shake it.

Another thing people take advantage of: the fact that I am not cheap. I HATE cheap people. I hate people who always cry about not having money and refuse to go out unless you pay their way. Therefore I am the complete opposite. I don't take handouts from anyone, even when I might need them. I give friends rides to the store, mall, etc. and never ask for gas money. I supply liquor when my friends and I go out to party and I don't request that everyone "put five on it." For some reason, I get the feeling that if I ever DID request cash for my "services," I would get that same "look" I mentioned before. But why? Is it my job to play chauffeur and/or bartender when I go out with the girls? Just this past weekend, my friend (who has a car) requested that we take my car to the club. She offered to drive, and mentioned that she and another girl would give me gas money. Well, the night ended and needless to say, I didn't see any damn gas money. All I was left with was less than a quarter tank of gas and vomit in my backseat.

I don't know....I never got these vibes when I lived in Florida a few years ago. It seemed like everyone that I kicked it with liked me for me. I didn't have a car, I was always broke, but that didn't stop my friends from calling and texting to see if I wanted to hang out. Here, I feel like if I didn't have a car, I would be shit-out-of-luck as far as friends go (a fact that was proven when a lot of my "friends" mysteriously disappeared last year after I became car-less). Here, I get the feeling that I am just a last resort because none of my friends have their "real friends" nearby. Everyone here is so "bored," so I think they just take what they can get. I know in my gut that as soon as their "real friends" come around, I'm no longer an option. And in my mind, that's not a true friend. I don't exist merely to serve as someone's entertainment because they're working a dead-end job, and I don't exist to drive someone around town because they think they're too good for public transportation.

I suppose this is why I still consider myself a loner, even when I have friends around. I keep most of my emotions bottled up; no one really knows what I'm thinking or feeling. I reveal only so much while keeping the rest to myself. I don't trust anyone here. I feel that as soon as I open up, all of my business is going to be passed on to motherfuckers that I don't even like, and that would piss me off.

Don't mind me; this post is the result of little sleep, lots of stress, and of course, boredom.

Tuesday, April 13, 2010

One of Those Days.

I wish people would speak up if they have a problem with something you have said/done. Nothing irks me more than grown people who play the "I'm not going to say anything if you don't" game. I am the master of silent treatment, and I will gladly ignore you until you say what's on your mind.

This is one reason why I don't feel bad about up and leaving Atlanta. I'm not trying to blame anyone, but I am a believer that your environment can affect how you think and act, and I certainly feel that my behavior/attitude on life has changed since moving into my current residence (and not necessarily for the better). Now I am the proverbial monster that has been created as a result, and everyone is looking at me like I'M the bad one. Fuck that. How is it that everyone around me can be bitchy, spoiled, catty, immature, etc. but as soon as I exhibit these characteristics, I get the sense that it is being held against me?

I don't understand people. No one in my house communicates to one another....or at least, they don't communicate to me. Instead I am left to make up my own assumptions, and in the event that I DO say something, I get the passive-aggressive response of: "Oh, I thought YOU were mad at ME???" I don't have time for the bullshit. I need to get out of here before I explode. I'll let the insecure and miserable destroy each other. I've been destroyed enough.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Worst. Birthday. Ever.

In spite of being unemployed this year for my birthday (again), I made plans with my roommates and a couple friends to go on a weekend trip to celebrate. I originally wanted to go to Washington, D.C. for my birthday....but then I got fired. Next on the list was Charlotte, North Carolina, but I didn't want to pay a shitload of money for a hotel. Then one of my old friends hit me up on Facebook asking me to visit her in Daytona Beach for the gazillionth time. I usually kind of blow her off when it comes to visiting, but she offers to let us crash at her place which translates to "Bingo!" in my head.

Just a couple days before it's time to get on the road, things begin to unravel. One of my friends (I'll call her K) sends a text telling me she can't get off work for the weekend. She's one of my flakier friends so I really wasn't counting on her in the first place, but then I get a text from my other friend (who will be referred to as B) saying to "call her" about something "important." Neither of us are the calling-type of people; we usually only communicate through text, so I know something is up. I call her, but no response. Later that day I get a call from my friend in Daytona Beach. She says that her boyfriend will be going back to their hometown the weekend of my birthday and she found some cheap flights online, so she is thinking about going with him. Okay......

She asks if this will be a problem. My first thought is, "Hell yeah it's a problem bitch! You call me two days before my trip and say I can't come now." But I tell her it's cool; if she wants to go home and visit her fam I can't tell her not to. I will just find something else to do. Then she asks me about four more times if I'm sure that it's okay. I'm getting annoyed now because I hate it when people do flaky shit then try to get reassurance from me that it's okay so they won't feel guilty. I tell her it's fine, then get off the phone with her. Minutes later she sends a text saying that she is still trying to decide if she's going to go home or not. What?! I don't have time for this bullshit! I text back, telling her to let me know for sure by the next day. By now I'm already on to the next one and I decide to look up hotel rooms in Charlotte. I find a few that will actually be pretty cheap if we split it four ways. Which reminds me....I still haven't heard from B. I text her and ask if she is still coming or if she will have to work this weekend as well. She texts back saying that she got "caught up." I respond asking what the hell that means. She says she will call me when she gets off work. In the meantime, my friend from Daytona calls and says that she has decided to stay home for the weekend so we can still come down if we want. Not to be mean, but I'm kind of over her at this point and I pretend that I'm excited about hanging out, even though I've already decided to go with Plan B.

I wait for a call from B, while contemplating whether I will answer the phone or not, since I'm pissed now. Nothing against my roommates, but we ALWAYS go on road trips together, so I was looking forward to the breath of fresh air I would get by having some new people come along, and now these chicks are fucking around. Like I said, K is super flaky and I had originally not even invited her on the trip because I knew she would be on some bullshit. But somebody slipped up and mentioned the trip to her and she got all hurt, asking why I didn't invite her so I caved in and told her she could come along. However, I gave B about three weeks notice that I would be going out of town, so I don't know WHAT her deal is. I text my roommate and tell him there's been a change of plans and....ugh. I need a drink. I break out my trusty red plastic cup and mix Minute Maid Cherry Limeade with vodka (delicious) then take a shower.

When I get out, my phone starts ringing. It's K. I don't know why she's calling since she said she won't be coming on this trip, but I grudgingly answer. She sounds chipper as hell, which annoys me even more, and she asks if I got her text message. I tell her yes, I got her text message saying she wasn't coming. She says she sent another text and I look through my phone. I see a text from her and B saying, "April Fools Bitch! Of course we're coming, we love you!" Damn. They got my ass. I can't help but laugh, but I let it be known that they will be getting cursed out the next time I see them.

By now, I have my heart set on going to Charlotte. It's a shorter drive, there seems to be more to do there, the hotel should be super cheap since we're splitting it five ways, and I don't know if my friend in Daytona Beach parties as hard as me and my friends. She seems more like the type that likes to watch movies and bake cookies; that's cool, but not really what I had in mind for this weekend. I book the hotel and make plans to break the news to her tomorrow.

The next day I send my friend a Facebook message telling her that one of my friends has an early class on Monday, and I don't want to drive almost 8 hours on Saturday just to turn back around and leave on Sunday (which is true). She writes back saying she understands and that we will just have to plan it better next time, blah, blah, blah. I'm done with that part of my life so I spend the rest of the day procrastinating and trying to make myself pack. I had made plans to go out with B and K tonight but now they're talking about going to a foam party and I'm not feeling it. For some reason I think of germs and all types of nasty things that people are capable of doing when I think of foam parties. Besides, I'm not in the mood to throw on a bikini at the beginning of April. I tell them to make sure they wake their asses up early and meet me at my house the next morning so we can get on the road.

Then my roommate texts and says that they will be getting off work early tonight (Good Friday) and that we should start my birthday celebration early. Sounds like a plan. I shower, get dressed, and make myself a drink while I wait. By the time my roommates make it home, I'm done with cup #1 and pouring myself a second one. In the hour that it takes for everyone to decide where we're going to go, I finish another cup-and-a-half. I don't start feeling it until we get in the car.

We get to the same lame-ass gay bar that my roommates always force me to go to, but I really don't remember too much of what happens. Someone buys me a shot, I go to the bathroom, and someone thinks I'm a man....that's about it. I'm not sure how long we stay there, but eventually we leave the bar and head to the local diner. In my drunkenness, I fumble around for my debit card, which should be in my bag that I left in the car. My roommate says not to worry about it; he'll get my food and I can find it later. We go inside and eat; I end up passing out at the table. Then we go home; by now it's around 5am and I had planned to leave for Charlotte around 8. Somehow I still believe that I will be able to get up in two hours and set my alarm for 7.

I wake up at 10am to the sound of my ringtone. Apparently I slept through my alarm and about a dozen missed calls and texts from my friends, who are sitting outside in the car. I get up and let them in, then start putting my stuff together. But I still can't find my damn debit card. I look through my jeans, my roommate's car, everything, but I can't find it. I know I didn't take it with me to the club because my roommate bought drinks. Then I start looking for other things that were in my bag and I can't find them either. My D&G glasses are missing, as well as my gate key to get into the subdivision, my Social Security card (which I always keep in my wallet even though everyone says you're not supposed to), and $15 in cash. My roommate says his Yves Saint Laurent glass case is missing too, and we come to the conclusion that someone broke into the car and took our (mostly my) shit. I guess they didn't even really "break into" the car; the lock on the right side has been broken for some time and has to be manually locked. So someone probably forgot to lock it and a shady ass thief hit the jackpot.

I can't believe this. I quickly call Wachovia and report my card as stolen. She says I won't be able to get a new one until Monday or Tuesday at the earliest, and there will be a $16 fee. Great. I agree to it, and reluctantly pack the rest of my shit so we can get the hell out of here. We're already running way behind the schedule I had planned in my head, but I decide to stop by the bank so I can withdraw funds before we go. Silly me; I forgot this is Easter weekend! The bank's closed. I slowly shake my head in disbelief at how my birthday is getting started. Everyone says not to worry; they "got me" and I can pay them back later for whatever expenses I accumulate in Charlotte.

We fill up the gas tank then I get on 85. The weather is beautiful, I have my music up, and my foot is heavy on the gas. I'm making good time, only about an hour or so until we get to Charlotte. Then I spot a patrol car on the side of the road. I ease off the gas, but it's too late. He puts his lights on and starts following me. Shit. I pull over and he walks up to the passenger's side. He gives his spiel, telling me his name and what county police department he's with, as if I give a fuck. He tells me he pulled me over because I was doing 87 in a 60 mph zone. He asks where I am headed in such a hurry. I ignore him; my friends answer him instead. They say they don't want me to get arrested. I tell them I don't give a fuck if he arrests me. I don't know if he hears me, but whatever. It takes me a good five minutes to find my driver's license and registration; I hand it to him and he goes back to his patrol car. He comes back shortly after and says that I am now required to pay a $355 fine or show up in court next month. He asks if I have any questions; I ignore him again and he says to "drive safe out there." Fuck you. I get back on the highway and take the first exit so that I can turn around and go back home. I have had it with this bullshit.

I feel like I am going to drive off the road and kill us all; I'm so angry. I stop at a gas station and call my mom to tell her what has happened. She is the only person I want to talk to when I'm in an extra shitty mood; I break down crying as I talk to her, telling her my day is ruined and that I already have so many bills that I can't pay due to my unemployment and now I have more money to pay. She does her best to console me, saying that I should go to Charlotte and have fun in spite of everything, then asks to speak to one of my roommates. After he gets off the phone with her, he offers to drive the rest of the way and we stop to get something to eat.

We get there around 5 and check into the hotel. Everyone lays out in the bed like they're ready to call it a night and shit. I go to the bathroom and realize that my friend is here. No wonder my stomach has been cramping all day. Could this day get any better? In spite of being exhausted, we decide to take a walk around downtown Charlotte to see what it has to offer. It's very pretty; that is, until we get several blocks down and the homeless begin to make up most of the pedestrians on the streets. We take that as our cue to turn around and head back to the hotel. Once we get back, we want to buy liquor for when we go out tonight. Apparently there are no liquor stores within walking distance of the hotel. I figure that's a ploy so that out-of-towners are forced to blow hundreds on drinks at the nightclubs. I can't afford that shit right now, so my roommates and I make a trip outside the downtown area while B and K get ready for dinner before we go party.

For some reason, my GPS tries to send me to an out-of-the-way liquor store that is surely in a shady neighborhood that we have no business being in, but I spot a place on the way and stop there instead. It's not too scary I guess. I get my vodka; my roommate buys a bottle of gin, and we drive back to the hotel. We get ready, then go across the street to dine at a swanky Italian restaurant. Afterward we go back to the hotel room and pre-game; I'm feeling so gross and bloated that I now have no desire to drink. I sip on my cranberry and vodka out of the hotel's paper cup while B gets "wasted." I can always tell when she's getting tipsy because her voice gets more and more high-pitched the more she drinks. Everyone seems fascinated by some MSNBC prison documentary that follows inmates who do crazy shit like tattoo their eyeballs, but I announce that I'm ready to go out. I'll be damned if I had all my shit stolen and got a speeding ticket just to get here and watch TV in a hotel room. There are clubs near the hotel in a little plaza. We head up the escalator and this is when I wonder if any of the clubs are 18+ or 21+. All of us are of age, except B, who won't turn 21 until October. I go up to a bouncer and ask if the club upstairs is 21+ and he says they all are. Shit. Then K gets the "bright" idea to give one of her IDs to B and have her go ahead of us to see if she gets in. We're supposed to wait 5-10 minutes so the bouncers can "forget" what K's ID looks like, then go in after B. This sounds like a stupid plan to me, especially considering that K and B look nothing alike, and with the luck I've been having lately, I don't want to get arrested tonight on some dumb shit.

However, B walks upstairs to the club and doesn't appear to have any trouble getting in. We wait a few minutes, then go up to the bouncer. He checks our IDs and then tells my roommates they can't go in because they don't fit the "dress code." Apparently guys in Charlotte are required to wear three-piece suits and wing-tipped shoes in order to be granted admission into a club. My roommates and I debate for a few minutes about what to do; they say they will just go back to the hotel and I can stay with my friends. I'm pissed because I wanted all of us to go out. I don't know if this club will be charging a cover fee when we go up there; I don't know anything. After all the events that have occurred today, I decide that I am officially done with this trip and I stomp my way back to the hotel room in my 5-inch heels. Some old man tries to holler at me on the way, but I give him the "look" that makes it obvious I am not to be fucked with at this moment. My roommates come into the room moments later and sarcastically say that I'm a great friend for leaving K and B behind. One of my roommates says it was my fault for inviting B because she's not 21, and tells me I'm acting like a spoiled brat. I tell him I don't give a fuck and not to talk to me about it anymore. I change clothes, go downstairs to get my makeup bag out of the car, cry some more, then come back to the room and go to sleep.

The next morning, I don't talk to anyone. We walk around to find something to eat, but once we get to a restaurant, I make it known that I'm not eating anything. Again, my roommate says I'm acting like a child and he doesn't know why I'm mad at them. I can't really explain what it is that I'm mad about; technically none of them did anything in particular to piss me off. I'm just angry in general and they just so happen to be the closest people to me at the moment so they get to experience the full force of my wrath. He says that even though shitty things happened to me, I should just make the best of it. I don't want to hear it. I fold my arms and stare in the opposite direction. After the meal, I call my mom again and tell her what happened the night before. She agrees that I was acting like a spoiled brat and says that I should be happy I have friends that wanted to spend time with me on my birthday, and repeats that mantra of "making the best of a bad situation." I start crying like a baby again and tell her that I just want to come home. I'm done with life, I'm done with Atlanta, I'm done with being broke, I'm done with not being able to find a job, I'm done with everything. She says that's fine with her. I'm relieved. We get in the car and I drive back to Atlanta, watching my speed the whole time. Damn those cops.

I don't even have words for my birthday weekend. Everyone tells me I should write a book. I agree. I think it should be tentatively titled "I Wake Up Every Morning Shaking My Head."