Ghetto fabulous.

First I must get this out of the way.

I tried to do a "private" entry, but guess what? I can't because diaryland blows goats. I would send them an email about it, but I am still waiting back to hear about why I have run out of banner views, in spite of the fact that I have never run ONE.

And because I like this diary to be funny, I have thrown all my angst here. And, as if asking you to keep up with two seperate diaries isn't enough, I even locked it! The last feeling-ridden entry I did resulted in me getting an email that sent me in a downward spiral for about a week, so if it's locked, I know who's reading it.

My feelings won't be hurt if no one reads it. But I had to put these thoughts somewhere, and there are a select few who I don't mind sharing them with.

No matter what I am going through, I use my sense of humor to sustain me. That is why even when I am all sad and rainy inside, I try to be as goofy and sunny as possible. I don't know how good that is, but it's how I've pretty much always done things.

Ok. Enough of that shit.

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I love living in the ghetto.

Because then you have neighbors who have friends with cars that look like this. If you haven't noticed, that's a bootylicious chick in a thong on the door.

Nice.

That's high class, yo.

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Some crap happened at work this week.

First, one of my co-workers' husband tried to pick me up RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIS WIFE. They are in this weird relationship, wherein they are still married, but don't live together, and don't intend to get a divorce. They spend holidays together, and talk and see each other every day. She got fat, he didn't like it, and left her.

Which is why I don't understand why he's hitting on me. I'm not as big as she is, but I am no petite flower, that's for sure. He tells me all the time that I look "particularly lovely" and always comments on how good whatever color I am wearing looks on me, or how pretty my smile is, or how funny I am to him on the phone, etc.

It bothers me. But I don't know how to say, "Hey, you creepy old fuck. Stop acting like you have a chance. I am not into chauvinistic assholes. Sorry." I just don't see how the wife can sit there and do nothing. I have no respect for women like that.

Celestia and I were notified that we have to go to a hearing about the lady that left her baby in the car while she went shopping. I am not looking forward to this.

My best bud at work, Chris, has a step-daughter that he can't stand. She's an asshole, doesn't respect him, doesn't listen to anyone, doesn't go to school half the time, and doesn't exert any effort whatsoever to be a decent human being.

When he first got married to her mom and they all moved in together, they left her alone for a day and she racked up $200 in pay-per-view porn. She was 13.

Now she's 15, and the wife came in and introduced me to her. Sadly, I see a lot of myself in the girl, in that she is saddled with thick, somewhat frizzy hair, and she is not a skinny girl. The worst part of being that age and being overweight is that you're so eager to fit in and look like everyone else, that you don't realize you should not be wearing the same clothes that the skinny girls are wearing.

All that sympathy was quickly thrown out the window when I made a joke to her about Chris, and she started laughing. No - she started snorting. Loudly. She snorted so much, in fact, that she fell right down.

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Last night, I had a date with RAM while his parents went to some fund-raiser for his little league. I had planned on taking him to see "Madagascar," but Kay already did. He told me what he really wanted to do was kick my butt in the Memory game (which the little fucker does every.single.time), and then play with the little asshole girl next door. I don't like him playing with her. She's a bad influence, and she's a tattle tale. Instead, we hung out and watched a few movies and ate some pizza.

"TT, we love pizza."
"Yeah we do, RAM."
"TT, you know what else I love?"
"No, what's that?"
"Kicking your butt! Hahahahahaha!!" At which point, he actually runs behind me and kicks my ass. "Hey, your butt is smaller than it was before. You're losing some pounds, TT."
"Uh...Thanks for noticing, kid."

Later on...

"Hey, are you glad school is almost over for summer?"
"Yeah."
"What are you going to do this summer?"
"Well, I don't know yet. Probably just play. Oh, and I want to get a girlfriend."
"A GIRLFRIEND?"
"Yeah. You know, a girlfriend."
"Who?"
"I don't know yet. I'll know when I see her."

I am pretty sure at five, I was still pissing myself and picking my nose and speaking incoherently (ok, I still do all that). I can't believe the shit this kid says to me.

Then I had one of the very few maternal moments I ever have EVER (since he is the closest I want to get to having a kid of my own, I think), when it was time for him to go to bed and he crawled up in my lap and let me hold him. I haven't held him like that since he was a baby. And goddammit, I have to admit it brought a little tear to my eye, because I couldn't imagine that my bitter, cynical, pessimistic heart could be filled with so much limitless love for one little person.

I hate when that shit happens.