Reflection time at the gym

I've started back going to the gym, only this time I started going to a gym closer to my apartment. The first person I noticed at my new gym was an older lady who is perhaps in her late 50's. She seems to be there everyday. Her hair is long and a ratty shade of brown. It looks like it's been carelessly chopped off with scissors and hangs at her waist. Her legs are thin and frail looking but she has a thick waist.
I've been watching her workout routine and she seems to approach working out as an act of leisure. She strolls on the treadmill and barely moves her legs on the recumbent bike. At first I was angry at the fact that she was occupying machines and not really making an effort to work out. Then I noticed that she was there everyday, even on Saturday nights. And it occurred to me that maybe she was lonely.
I constructed a story in my head that she was a recently widowed housewife whose children had left the nest. I pictured a lonely existence of T.V. dinners and empty nights. I thought that maybe the gym was a distraction for her. Something to take her mind off of her hollow existence.

Nigger

I grew up in a small town right on the out skirts of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. As soon as I graduated from college I loaded as many things as I could in the back of my Geo, Prizm and got the hell out of there. Zachary is a city filled with white racist rednecks and submissive Negroes who think it's a compliment to be called an oreo. My high school principal would go around calling the white girls involved in interracial relationships a disgrace to the "white race." We voted on a black prom queen and a white prom queen. Well, they voted on it. Eventually I just stopped participating in everything. I would spend pep rallies in the library and use every opportunity I could get to challenge the authority of the teachers and principals. What was I supposed to do? I remember growing up next to this guy named Michael Kimbal. We went to elementary school, middle school and high school together and then one day in high school I pissed him off and he retaliated by calling me a nigger at a table full of black people! I was the only person who got upset. One of the other black guys at the table actually asked me why I was getting upset and why I was so "pro black." That's when I started to hate everyone. Eventually time erases those memories and their replaced by newer ones, better ones. I went to an all black college to get away from shit like that, only to find out that I couldn't relate to the people there either. Either way, it was better than being called a nigger. At least people like Michael were honest. At least he called me a nigger to my face and not behind my back. There are black people and immigrants who come to this country desperately trying to fit in with the white majority. There are white people in this country who insist they don't see race but then make comments about how whites and blacks settled in Boston at the same time but black people didn't make an effort. (I heard this tidbit of information from the living breathing incarnation of a white liberal in upstate NY!) So the images I post on my page aren't meant to perpetuate a stereotype. They are there are a reminder of things that happened only a generation before and things that are still going on today. It's not a "thing of the past" if there are people still alive to recount the events! There are shows like Flavor of Love, where the host eats fried chicken and the women walk around partially nude. A show produced and created by an all Jewish and Caucasian production team that still perpetuate these stereotypes. "I don't see race, people are people!" That's bullshit! I AM BLACK! And that goes deeper than the color of my skin. My hair is thicker, my features are more defined and there are certain cultural differences. I hate people who want to blend in with the social norm but more than that I hate people who think that just because it's white, it's allllright! So after all of this, after being called a nigger, a tar baby, and Kim's "best black friend" in high school I still manage not to be a racist. It is only a racist post on a MySpace bulletin from an old high school chum that made all of these memories bubble to the surface like vomit.

Shoes...

I went into Nordstrom today to buy my birthday perfume. The whole store is a trap. When you walk in you can hear piano music gently playing in the background and instantly you are surrounded by hundreds of beautiful shoes being sold by beautiful men and women. I'm trying to stay on task but my feet hurt from my regular shoes. The sole has started to peel off the bottom and they pinch my baby toe. I thought maybe I'd try on a pair of pumps. Nordstrom is the only store that sells fabulous shoes for women with long beautiful feet like mine. Other stores carry large sizes but usually they look like someone just took the box to a normal shoe, punched some holes in them and threaded them with string! Viola! These shoes were perfect. The heel was the perfect height and width. They were made of leather and it felt like I had just placed my foot into a bed of silk and roses. When I walked in them, it was like walking in a nice pair of athletic shoes. I sat there for 15 minutes and stared at those shoes. The "flesh" colored stockings looked strange against my brown skin but all the same I enjoyed having them on my feet. I could buy these shoes or pay my electric bill. The sales lady didn't use high pressured sales tactics but kept reassuring me that these would be shoes I could wear everyday. It's an investment to buy a good shoes. It's something you're going to wear almost everyday. It's a good work pump. I agreed with her. I feel like if I'm going to go to work everyday I atleast deserve to have a nice pair of shoes to do it in! I also know that I still have to pay 500 dollars in bills and my account is already in the red.

A few minutes earlier I'd been at Sears smiling prettily as I convinced the salesperson to tighten the battery cables on my car for free. Some mornings my car doesn't start and I finally got sick of getting my hands dirty trying to adjust the cables that I decided to take advantage of the warranty. The salesman at Sears asked for my number and offered to fix everything else on my car for free... Only he couldn't do it there at the store, I would have to come to his house. (nudge nudge wink wink)

After staring at those shoes on my feet for close to twenty minutes I decided to take them off, place them back in the box and tell the sales lady that I wouldn't be able to make a purchase today. It simply was'nt in my budget. I couldn't help but to think about the business card in my purse with the knowledge that the name and number written on the back of that card would happily buy me those shoes just to win my affection. I thought about how easy it would be to accept a gift like that from a stranger by exploiting the fact that it was my birthday. I thought about how wrong it would be to lead someone on and have them figure out a few months later that I am, in fact, emotionally unavailable. Once I get the job, I'll buy the shoes as a reward. First I need to get through the interview. What if they think my stuff looks too hacky? What if they ask me questions I don't know the answers to? What if I get in there and my mind goes blank and I break out in a cold sweat? What if I ramble on and talk to much? What if my portfolio looks too cheap? What if I walk through the door and there's a line of people interviewing for the same position? What if I get the job and screw everything up later and get fired? What if I chickened out and decided to stay at my current job for the stability only to regret it later because I never took the chance?

Bumper Stickers

I hate it when people plaster bumper stickers all of their cars! It's like they want the rest of the world to know their religious and political beliefs. These are the same people who will refuse to sit down with you, one on one, and have a serious discussion about either one of these topics. I am sick of those "W" stickers posted on the rear windshields of the big gas guzzling SUV's of soccer mom's and the pick-up trucks of rednecks. In my opinion that makes you a conservative who's afraid of "the black and brown people" and "The gays getting married." I want to smash a brick through your fu*king windshield and then urinate on the hood of your vehicle. A few weeks ago I saw this lady with rainbow and LAMBA stickers plastered on her bumper. At least 15 fu*king stickers! I wanted to pull her out of her car at the stop light and scream "ALRIGHT! I KNOW YOU'RE A F^CKING LESBIAN! GET OVER IT!" I don't have stickers on my car telling everyone I'm straight or that I'm an atheist. I hate seeing those Jesus freaks with their Jesus fish on their cars or the militant atheist with the Darwin fish. It's a vehicle, not a f^cking billboard.

Religious People

I guess its time for me to share something that few people know about me. Despite all of my flaws and insecurities I am actually the creator of the universe. That’s right ladies and gentlemen, I AM GOD! I am the master and creator of the universe. I don’t mean this in the traditional sense. Of course I am not some bearded robed figure sitting in the clouds but I am the creator of my own universe. This is not a new theory by any means. If the world around me is merely a product of my senses then what I see, feel, touch, taste and smell brings my world into creation. In this sense, I would be god, so when I die the entire world dies with me. Everyone in my world plays a role but most of you are just here for my entertainment. So it doesn’t matter what you people think or the feelings that you claim to feel because I am the one controlling your existence.

The Internet

I feel like I’ve reached a sign that says:




Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I’ve been surfing since 1997. It feels like I have played all of the internet games, participated in all of the networking sights and read every blog there is to read. I am bored with the internet. Blah….

Fridays

Right…This is something that people in the workforce say in passing on a Friday afternoon. Everyone seems so happy to have 48 hours of solitude after spending, on average, 40 hours trapped in a tiny 8x10 office or even worse, a tiny windowless cubicle. Okay… so there are 40 hours out of the week when I’m supposed to actually be working, another 2 hours a day spent commuting. Most of my waking time is spent staring at a computer screen and sharing recycled air with a bunch of retarded monkeys. Saturday is usually spent running errands that I can’t do during the week and most of the Christians spend their Sundays in church looking for solace. So … ladies and gentlemen I implore you, what is so happy about a god damn Friday afternoon??

Tree

The tree outside of my office window provides a constant distraction. When I started working here it was dotted with hundreds of little white blossoms. The wind carried them away, carpeting the ground and creating a whirlwind of falling flowers. Slowly the blossoms turned into tiny leaves, a vibrant, almost florescent green in stark contrast to the dark branches of the tree. As the sun grew closer to the earth, the leaves turned a deeper, richer shade of green, almost hiding the branches completely in their fullness. The winter took with it the sun and subsequently the leaves. One branch split off into another seeming to go on for an eternity until they became too small for me to see with my naked eye. Even now it’s alive and shimmering outside my window. Every leaf is distinct and multidimensional in the sunlight and shadows.

Transportation

Rising gas prices make it too expensive to drive and the constant harrasment at the airport makes it too much of a hassel to fly. The American people have essentially been grounded. The terrorist have won.

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