My Joy Is Contagious Make Sure You Catch It!

I always tell people that any day above ground is a good day! I hope your day is wonderful and blessed! Feel free to share your thoughts!
Thanks for stopping by!

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Are Your "Friends" Just "Contacts"?

Mysterious contacts and friends who are they? Weekly I’m inundated with requests for my friendship. I accept because I figure we all need friends’ right? As I scroll my cell phone’s address book and MySpace page, I realize that I don’t even remember most of these people. One day I decided on a brave course of action. I would do a little housecleaning. I conducted a rigorous litmus test and concluded that the fate of nearly 60 “contacts” in my cell phone alone called for deletion. Sixty is a lot when you consider I almost went blind typing their crucial information in those tiny spaces. Companies woo us with special ring tones, wallpapers, and themes so that everything is ‘”personalized “. If you must hear Michael Jackson belt out a barely audible version of “Beat It” when Tonya calls it is going to cost you $2.99 plus tax. Consider this; if you are at least 35 don’t you already have this entire album on wax anyway? So after your jaw drops from the absurdity of what you spent just to hear your cell phone ring, take a trip up to the attic. I’ll bet my future grandkids “Thriller” and the rest of your Michael Jackson memorabilia is entombed in dust that could rival the Middle East.

I looked at my cell phone bill one day and I felt like a sucker. I bought ringtones and had even assigned them to contacts who never called. I knew I had hit bottom when I would use my home phone to dial my cell phone to just to hear the ring tone. The first sign whether you should delete people from your cell phone is to determine whether you actually talk to them. Are the conversations meaningful or are they as generic as a cheap prescription from Canada? The cell phone “contact” debacle is similar to what happens on MySpace or any other social networking site. You are so proud of your baby! Your profile is impressive with its engrossing pictorial slideshow and carefully designed layout. No one can dispute your popularity because you have 9123 friends. If you or I dared to be honest admitting to only knowing 20 would be a major coup.
Do you feel important because you are “friends’ with celebrities who may only contact you with a mass bulletin when a new album, movie, or clothing line debuts? At 5:45am are you comforted when the backlight from your phone can be seen by other drivers? This notion that we are “important” because of the quantity of our friends and not the quality is baffling indeed. We want people to notice how “connected” we are so we are constantly talking, texting, and adding “contacts”. Are they really friends?
What are your thoughts?

Friday, October 31, 2008

The Diary of A Former Whore PT 1

The Diary of a Former Whore PT1

Monday 11:15pm

I'm cute, mixed with black and Samoan

From the suburbs in Iowa, a city named Des Moines

Gung-Ho boyfriend enlisted, to Iraq he’s going

I'm told when you're pregnant, your face is glowing

I'm reaping now what I've been sowing

In 9 months I'll definitely will be showing

Ran away from home now I'm hoeing

Need some cash, but nobody's loaning

Many tickets on my car the city threatened towing

Off the Greyhound Bus I'm posing

Stomach not growling it's moaning

Wish it were my disappointed parents I was phoning

See other scared young girls like me, isn't that cloning

A pimp in a velvet vest found me it was snowing

He paid for my abortion without anyone knowing

Cocaine passes the time, so I'm blowing

Fell for my 1st "John", and I'm coping

Methadone instead of heroine no longer doping

Will he leave his wife? I'm still hoping

The door that leads to success, it's slowly closing

Life gently going down the stream, and I'm rowing

Tuesday 9:35pm

Did I mention, my name is Lynn Moore

And no... I did not grow up poor

My parents are friends with Al Gore

Private school at times was a bore

Only French I learned is "Bonjour"

Parents are not having it anymore

Tried to hitchhike to the Jersey shore

Landed a "stellar" gig as a whore

"John" is my next big score

"DO NOT DISTURB" sign on the motel door

Rumpled clothes piled high on the floor

Cheap bottle of whiskey by the bed…I pour

Brand new pack of condoms…. not no more

"John" paid for sex until 15 after 4

To the climax "John" and I eventually soar

I never ever heard a "John" snore

Left "John" sleeping…I've done this before

My pimp ripped the "skimpy" clothes I wore

He beat my ass again….now I'm sore

Sex for CA$H feels more like a chore

What the hell did I run away for

Bad choices I've made hurt me to the core

Rowing down life's stream with a broken oar

Wednesday 7:07pm

My eye it's black, but I'm not hurt

Some "Johns" get off when they treat me like dirt

Grew up too fast, I was such a little flirt

Never really knowing my real self-worth

So I drop my panties & I lift my skirt

Red lipstick stains on "John's" blue silk shirt

"John's" belly is so huge it just might burst

Erectile dysfunction, so "John's" a jerk

$20.00 short, My pimp will go bizzerk

Viagra digested still "John" doesn't work

To an erection "John" just can't give birth

"John's" got immunity, his rights come first

Foreign diplomat, I think "John" is a Turk

Thursday 4:59pm

CA$H for sex, we make the swap

Deep, fat, pockets to the mall.... we shop

Left on I-80…the expressway we hop

Parked the pimp's caddy in an undisclosed lot

No hard drugs now I only smoke pot

I got the munchies & my stomach's in knots

Flat rear tire, it's as far as we got

Peep a fine man driving a Maybach

I’m flashing new "John".... I hope I look hot

There’s a really bad itching coming from my crotch

The free clinic gives me penicillin a lot

Make my move I lure him to my "spot"

Gut reaction, this "John's" a cop

Long legs in the air, his world I "rock"

I hope that sound wasn't the condom pop

I was lucky, this "John" wasn't a cop

Living in Dubuque now, to the corner I jot

I "tricked" a lot of people today like a Las Vegas slot

He beat me again not a shock

My pimp took every dime I got

Hope today his worthless ass get shot

Am I scared to kill him? No I'm not

This way of living leads to a grave plot

Friday 2:45am

The public defender moved like a snail

This "John" was a cop, & I couldn't tell

Damn "hacks" go through all my mail

I can't make any money locked in this cell

Without my lipstick, I feel so pale

I wish I had some Ginger ale

The bread I got, It’s stale

The dyke next door, she likes to tell tales

I have nightmares at night, in the dark I yell

Saw myself in a casket with a huge black veil

I feed a rat with the long brown tail

The judge was far too "easy" on the male

He paid for my body that I had for $ALE

My pimp, did not even post my bail

But being locked up is better than hell

3 squares & a cot, plus I pee in a pail

Sentenced to 90 days..in the county jail

Saturday 1:18pm

Young girl...don't you dare end up like me

High self-esteem is the key

No one dared or cared enough to see

Life can’t be cured with Vitamin C

My pimp fixed his tire & fled to D.C.

Trying to evade the vice police

I finally got my GED

The court dismissed my guilty plea

The D.A, a former "John", he set me free

Now I get paid, "legally" to speak

To "lost" runaway girls in their teens

Don't be timid should you ever want to read

A page from a former whore's diary

Sunday 8:08pm

So far, life for me has been one hard test

I didn't always do my best

Journaling gets my thoughts off my chest

That pimp was a real fucking pest

I hear he still wears that velvet vest

But I'm so done with all that mess

I met a good man. His name is Jess

My wounds from life, he helped me dress

I couldn't possibly love him any less

Sometimes after church, we play chess

Who came to my rescue? Try and guess

God's love got me through life's long quest

On the 7th day I get plenty of rest

A Woman's Threat!

Being so candid causes women's hearts to ache

Get over it fellas

Sometimes the devil wears Prada

Most of the time we wear fakes

Cornbread, pork chops, & collard greens

Have all left you jaded

"Angel" hair pasta & "Devil's" Food cake

Undeniably, the reasons your looks have faded

Baby, if you looked like "Him"

Maybe, I'd wear a dress like that

Something way too short & sexy

With a deep "V" going down the length of my back

But you don't look like "Him"

You're still happy looking like that

So I'm glueing the tags back on

And then I'm taking the dress back

Gluttony is a the major enemy

And food is really "not" your friend

Hand me my needle and thread

So I can "let" your slacks back out again

Your guilty, gravy stained face

Only confirms where you have been

You weren't hanging with your boys

You were "sneaking" to the refrigerator again

You say that you like " real" women

Just not the kind who wear the pants

Well, I wish you would "step up" to the scale

And "step back" from the pots & pans

You used to be so darn "dapper"

Versace, Cole, & Boss

Baby, I would've "rocked" that dress for you

I would've even let you take it off

Men expect women to look "perfect"

To the point, where we're plastic & fake

Leave the "other woman", the refrigerator

And get your fat ass in shape

Food for some, is a two-way street

For you, food is a greasy dead end

Soon there will be two more of you

And I'll be on Match.com seeking other men

Baby, I want to look "sexy" sometime

But Sweetie, I want you to look "sexy" too

I'm woman "enough" for one man

But, I'm just not woman "enough" for two

Maybe I won't be so repulsed

The next time that we sit down to eat

Our bedroom is not a "buffet"

Unless you're "helping" yourself to me

Men might be like buses

One may come every 15 minutes

But I don't wanna ride nothing

Where Betty Crocker been sittin

Who Am I? Who Are You?

I'm the answer before the question is asked

I'm the future with the erased past

I'm the liar when I fudge the truth

I'm the fornicator when I sleep with you

I'm the prude because I don't have sex

I'm the spin doctor who cleans up your mess

I'm the robber when I don't pay my tithes

I'm the hustler doing something on the side

I'm the cashier when I want you to pay

I'm the jury when I vote to send you away

I'm the President when I veto a bill

I'm the weatherman when I forecast a chill

I'm the mother who misses my son

I'm the unforgiving not forgiving anyone

I'm the sinner who is saved by grace

I'm the Christian who fell short today

I'm the irresponsible when my credit score is low

I'm the windbreaker when the wind starts to blow

I'm the crusader when I change the world

I'm the woman who remembers being a girl

I'm the fighter when the enemy beats on me

I'm the blind when there are things I don't see

I'm the villain when my kids don't get their way

I'm the orator when there is something to say

I'm the purjurer when I lie under oath

I'm the exterminator when I kill a roach

I'm the reporter when I give you the news

I'm the pouncer when I make my move

I'm the chef when I prepare the food

I'm the healer when I fix your boo boos

I'm the victim when I call the cops

I'm the dancer when I drop it like it's hot

I'm the wife who doesn't want you to cheat

I'm the hacker who gets around McAfee

I'm the bootlegger when there are movies to sell

I'm the snitch when they hire me to tell

I'm the tomboy if it's balls I pitch

I'm the lesbian if I dig other chicks

I'm the bad credit risk who can't get a loan

I'm the foreclosed who is losing her home

I'm the alcoholic if I crave the bottle

I'm the speed demon if I drive at full throttle

I'm the stranger when I travel out of town

I'm the cautious when I don't sneak around

I'm the You Tuber when I watch videos all day

I'm the farmer when I feed my horses hay

I'm the sun when I brighten your day

I'm the whore when you want a good lay

I'm the beautician when I use mousse and gel

I'm the writer with a story to tell

I'm the blogger when I post my thoughts

I'm the student when I learn what I'm taught

I'm the secretary when I take your calls

I'm the laundry service when I wash your drawls

I'm the singer with the amazing voice

I'm the voter who gets to make a choice

I'm the human who makes mistakes

I'm the girlfriend who doubles as your maid

I'm the salesperson when you need it sold

I'm the angry black woman when you need to be told

I'm the thinker when my minds at play

I'm the human with feelings in the way

I'm the idiot who let you go

I'm the sorry one who wants you to know

I'm the lover who only wants love

I'm the bigger person when I rise above

I'm the typist when I press the keys

I'm the lady who knows when to leave

I'm the survivor doing the best I can

I'm the person that God says I am

I'm the questionmark now which of these fits to a tee

I'm the mystery & you don't get to define me

Strange Bedfellows

He slept in the room across the hall with my mother and he was a monster. My stepfather haunted me for years. He had a menacing stare and invasive hands. He just seemed to be everywhere I turned in the house on 250 Maryland Street. I fell in love with journaling, books, and music by locking myself in my room. I became my own best friend. I felt fortunate any day I could escape his presence and his hands. One night he stood drunk in my bedroom doorway and urinated. I blocked the memory of what he did to me out until I was 22 years old.
It was usually around 3 am when I felt that familiar cold spot spreading beneath me. The stench of putrid urine would assault my nostrils and I could easily smell what I had done. It had happened before so many nights, but each time it did I wished I could spontaneously combust with that soiled mattress. Bedwetting was a constant source of shame and embarrassment in my life. There was no one I could adequately communicate my fears about the monster except my sister. Going to sleep dry and waking up in cold piss was humiliating. I learned early on to cope with my bedwetting. I would get up, try to clean my mess in the early morning hours and catch the last few moments of sleep before school. Just a little girl but with remarkable strength, I could flip a full sized mattress over. I even learned how to operate the washing machine.
Every time I woke up in my wet bed my self esteem sank lower and lower. Material possessions were the duct tape that masked the darkness I lived with. I was afraid. Some nights I’m still afraid. He always wore a white tee shirt and blue jogging shorts with white stripes. He was a functional alcoholic until his alcoholism became dysfunctional. I was only a child when he first started coming to my room. By the time I had become a teenager I rationalized his inappropriate behavior was on account of me looking so much like my mother, and maybe he thought I was her. Rather than get up and go to the bathroom, I would lie in soiled bed sheets because I was scared every time I opened my door the monster would be waiting for me. I could never go to the bathroom in peace because I knew he would be posted outside the door. He would literally stand outside trying to glimpse my pubescent nude body through tiny cracks in the door. It was shameful how my sister and I took turns guarding doors and placing towels over the hinges in our house just so we could maintain a little privacy.
I remember the first bath I ever took in my own apartment. I felt so liberated like a newly freed slave. Remember the Mary Tyler Moore Show? I love the opening theme when Mary throws her hat up in the sky? Well I was Mary only with water and bubbles. I finally learned to sleep in the dark. The nightmares have subsided because I know the monster has no power to hurt me anymore. Now if I have an “accident” I can get up much like I did all those years ago but there is one difference. Just as I learned to wash away the remains from a urine soaked bed, I learned forgiveness washed away much more. Victims have choices too!

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

You Are Free To Rant!

I laugh at how quick I am now to "rant" on social networking websites. In many respects I feel like it is wonderful to have another "outlet" for my thoughts. I'll never forget my pen and my pad though because if we've learned anything, it's that technology can and will fail.
I don't know about you, but I still go to Hallmark and buy cards, I still call people on their birthdays, and I still frequent the local post office to buy stamps. My desktop and my laptop are both wonderful in the conveniences that they provide, but they lack the human touch. I think that's one thing we've forgotten in our "microwave" style of living. Sometimes I accidentally bump into people just so I can remember what the human touch feels like. A screen name and a keyboard can be so freeing. So how about it? What's on your mind? What are you longing for? This journey you're on where do you think it'll take you? Feel free to rant!
"90% of the friction in daily life is caused by the wrong tone of voice"
Be Blessed!

Until Something Happens

I'm going to make a concerted effort not to watch the news on a regular basis. Recently I've become aware that these stories after any prolonged amount of time have a tendency to desensitize me. I'm even shocked at my own lack of apathy as countless reporters describe in morbid detail how another person's life was snuffed out. How can I remain so unaffected? Didn't I hear the reporter? Another child was savagely killed and yet I am completely coherent. I heard that reporter but I continue folding my laundry. I guess discovering who the sock thief is elicits more of a response. I never thought I'd get to a place mentally when hearing about children being ruthlessly murdered would seem ordinary and commonplace. It is a shame that in certain segments of our society hearing gunshots before having our morning coffee really is nothing special.

Most of us are smart enough to know by now that it really wasn't the alarm clock that woke us this morning. We all are guilty though of taking life for granted. When did the world morph into a melting pot of self absorbed ego maniacs with self gratification as the only goal? Boasting that we care about our fellow man only because it's politically correct to do so not because we really give a crap! If all that stands between you and a promotion is getting dirt on the other guy, are you seriously going to tell me that your shovel remains clean?

There is a very fine line between sanity and insanity and I believe 90% of us tiptoe around the edge all the time. You may not have done what Jane or John Doe has, but who is to say that you won't or couldn't. The edge is where some people live and sometimes the edge is where some people are pushed. When bad things happen the real story was written long before the likes of Nancy Grace got wind of it. Should lives only matter because the network news decides through sensational journalism it's a story worth covering? When tragedy strikes I wonder about the events that led up to the headlines not the actual headlines themselves. Death can visit in some pretty common and sadistic ways and yet I will forever be fascinated how now when tragedy strikes, statements are prepared, lawyers are hired, and contracts are negotiated and all of this before the casket is in the ground.

Imagine that wife who rushes to get ready for work but notices that her husband left the toilet seat up again. Can you see how ridiculous a toilet seat seems when she never gets to scream at him about it because she was interrupted by death? The recent high profile cases involving Drew Petersen, Ann Pressley, Casey Andersen, and Jennifer Hudson, brought this home for me in an instant and I think it sums a lot up. We usually don't care about ANYTHING until SOMETHING happens to us

What are your thoughts?