For the first time in many years, I visited with my grandmother. She decided at the last minute she would come to DC and visit her sister for Thanksgiving. I hadn’t visited my grandmother in quite some time (maybe 10 years).
We are both pretty stubborn brawds.
…we didn’t dislike each other, but are equally blasé about reaching out to family members – they should really come to us – right??
But she has been stubborn for far longer than I – so I decided I would make the first move to communicate again (translation, she wouldn’t budge so I had to). I mean, neither one of us is getting younger.
She’s 83 years old and just stopped driving last year (see #17 of “Twenty things that make me wanna take my best friend's happy pills...”. She still lives alone. She won’t leave the house unless in full makeup, perfect hair (or wig), perfumed and pearls.
…and I’ve heard you aint coming in her home if she is not “pulled together”.
She requested her children instruct her grandchildren to call her Big Mommy (though she 5'11" and a perfect size 5) because she didn’t want children calling her grandma -- especially in public. She didnt look or feel old enough for that!! I am the only grandchild who refused to call her Big Mommy instead of grandma. I of course called out to her GRANDMA as often as I could – especially around her friends.
…so I didn’t spend much time with her growing up.
*snicker*
I am the only grandchild who does not make the trek up north to visit her and in turn, the only grandchild who does not get money and cards for birthday and Christmas.
I went to where the dinner was hosted (my second cousin’s home) and noticed they were just finishing up the main course. I wondered if they started at 2:00 p.m. or something – just dayum. I walked over to the table and while she was sitting, gave to her a hug and cheek kiss.
She turned around, was shocked, and then smiled.
I smiled.
Everyone else started smiling as well (like FINALLY).
She stood up, and walked a circle around me while looking me up and down, and told me that I look great. I thanked her. She paused and turned her head to one side and smirked. I then told her that she looked great as well (and honestly, she did). We hugged and kissed again. She then added I should really wear pantyhose with heels – sheer toe when wearing open-toed shoes as I was that day, even when wearing pants so that my feet wouldn’t bother me when older.
She then sat down and requested I serve them (she, her sister, and a few other old brawds) sherry (age-dated, more than 30 years ago, of course) and I did.
I sat down on a nearby couch and listened to the stories, appreciated the wisdom and had a very warm and fuzzy feeling (no, I didn’t have a glass of sherry with them). She shared with me recent photos. It was a great experience.
I ended my visit with a huge hug and an “I love you Big Mom”. I happy f*cking family day with the perfect ending… or so I thought.
…meanwhile my daughter was downstairs rummaging through music and came across a Cher CD. My second cousin told my daughter she could have it.
So -- my kid has been playing Cher all weekend. She placed it on repeat last night even – so I awaked this morning to the annoying voice. This woman absolutely, positively can not sing. I’m leaving today at lunch to find and destroy the CD before my kid gets home from school.
I am very pleased that my grandmother and I have made amends. I really love her. But I am beyond pissed we walked away with Cher.
Today is my daughter’s 13th birthday.
We started celebration on Saturday with shopping for doll clothing (yes, my child still plays with dolls) and finished the evening with a great dinner at a friend’s home.
Sunday she had an ice cream buffet and ate until close to noon, while my friend and I had our normal healthy breakfasts. We then went shopping until evening at Annapolis Mall and then to a nice dinner.
Today I took catering trays to her school, and while setting up food and drink one of the male kids called out in a very familiar (flirty) tone “Well, hello there – and what’s your name?” I turned to see a thirteen year old boy leaned back comfortably in his chair wearing a smirk on his face. I looked at him with the obvious look of irritation, and answered in a scowling tone, “My name is Princess Virtue’s Mother” and turned my head. He then said, “Well its very nice to meet you Princess Virtue’s Mother”.
He was positioned in the very middle of the classroom and at this point all students were silent in an effort to not miss this exchange.
He then said loud and clear, “My name is Sean and it’s very nice to meet you”.
I couldn’t believe it. I was clearly being hit on by a 12 or 13 year old kid while setting up for my daughter’s birthday party.
The teacher then requested the kid quiet down. The kid replied “What? I am just being social and making conversation. She did take the time to pull all of these nice things together for us”.
I finished my setup, gave my daughter a kiss, I then left the school to return to the office.
I just got a phone call from my daughter who is off shopping with my mother.
The Report:
As soon as I left the classroom, the kid turned around to my daughter and said, “Hey Virtue’s Daughter, you are gonna have to give me your home number. Your mother is cute. I just might be your father someday”.
The entire classroom, including the teacher, burst into laughter.
I was floored when she told me.
Someone really needs to slap that kid.
Take one drink every time Virtues says any of the following:
1. For f*cks sake
2. Sweating like a whore in confession
3. I hate men
4. I'm only having a drink or two tonight.
Take two drinks every time:
1. Virtues comes crawling home at 2:30 am after declaring #4 above
2. Virtues ingests a serving of Drunken Donuts at Smith & Wollensky’s
3. Virtues finds humor in saying something shocking while others roll their eyes and shake their heads with indignation
4. Virtues calls one of the men referred to in #3 above
Finish your drink whenever:
1. Virtues switches from white wine to Ketel One
2. Virtues speaks of “unnatural” s*xual acts or the fact that she hates panties
3. Virtues finds some older british guy terribly attractive
4. Virtues leaves early to meet one of the men referred to in #4 above
Once I’ve crossed the platonic line with someone and then, for whatever reason, thrown the gears in reverse – they will never get the same considerations.
No sex. No matter.
I will never again look at this person as a true friend. Maybe an associate, but their opinions won’t really matter as much as someone I’ve not screwed.
Maybe I am missing out on worthwhile friendships. Maybe I am not missing out on anything. I mean really; I’m a grown-assed woman and you just don’t make friends so well after a certain age, but you can always find fun people to entertain relationships with sex or good sexual tension hanging overhead.
Folks become conditional after sex has been introduced. Even more so once sex has been introduced, and then taken away.
…and being too friendly with one from the past might prompt them to share things not cared about – or think someone actually wants to hear their problems and be a part of their lives. They same issues that are likely why they are not being screwed or paid attention to anymore.
They just don’t matter as much anymore. And one has their own issues.
While non-platonic relationships are in progress, if for whatever reason I am not sleeping with my partner for an extended time – they are likely out of the door. I can deal with a lot of personality – dysfunctions and all; but, if the sex is not happening, your arse is gone because the closeness is fading.
...and if I aint turned on, I aint screwing.
And once out of s*x, out of my mind is to follow.
My tank was on empty for several days since I commuted from the suburbs for an entire week.
It was about that time.
My heart raced as I pulled into the BP Station on U Street. It was during school hours so no children were around. The station was filled with antsy Ethiopian taxi drivers, so I didn’t bother asking for their assistance.
Sweating like a whore in confession, I was on my own once again.
I pumped my own gas for the first time since my fight with the beotch and the gas hose several weeks ago (see Karma: http://www.santagati.com/virtue/archives/000638.htm).
Being born in an area where you are not allowed to pump your own gas, its still amazes me there are so few stations in the DC area where full-service is available – and when you find one, it’s almost a 50% markup on the fuel.
*ehm… can I get a hand-job and nipple massage with that full tank please?*
I pumped carefully and slowly – holding the lever myself this time. I then waked away with a strong feeling of accomplishment.
…Until I smelled the nasty stinch of gas on my fingertips.
*wishing I had an electric car or a man-servant*
There are three things extremely hard: steel, a diamond, and to know one's self.
-Benjamin Franklin
...and I am fighting with self... after the fact of course.
*snicker*
A new friend named remorse stopped by last year and from time to time pops in her bitter little head. She’s a hard one to shake, so I’ve taken lots of time to spend with my friend apathy, who promised to slap remorse naked and hide all of her clothing.
This brawl is a very interesting one.
And I am as anxious as a one-eyed cat watching two rat holes to see who will win.
Am I the only one who at least once a year does something totally f*cking scandalous with no regard for others?
Slutty minds need to know.
This is the nosy betoch remorse wondering, of course.
Tell me something absolutely awful you’ve done. Share your story and let me know if I can share it with others.
virtuesofselfishness@gmail.com
Tell me your scandalous story so that I feel less sluttish about mine (please).
(the almost urban posting)
I don’t really listen to rap. The last rappers I “enjoyed” were Tupac and Biggie. They made me shake my arse, drink in excess, and flirt with younger men with whom I had nothing in common.
..some time ago, I know.
*snicker*
I have a friend who loves urban clubs and music and she does manage to drag me out once every 3 months or so. She sits in amazement because no one there would know I don’t listen to these types of music on a regular. After three drinks, I shake my arse like a fully clothed video queen/stripper for hours. I mean, really – what should she expect. I DO have Bahamian blood running through these veins, so rhythm is there.
...and I am a spicy brawd.
Though I never purchased music by Tupac or Biggie, I did manage to put out dollars for Black Moon, Mobb Deep, Tribe Called Quest, De La Soul, Jungle Brothers and Wyclef Jean. I enjoyed that sorta vibe.
In my very far past, I also appreciated, at one point or another – Slick Rick (Hey young world...), Run DMC (My Addidas…), McLyte (Paper Thin…) LL Cool J (Jingling baby – go’ head baby…), Nas (Sexy as all out – fanning myself), Cube (Today was a good day…), Dre (Chronic – Nuff said), Eazy (Don't matter just don't bite it...), Cypress Hill (Hummin'... comin' at cha...), Jay Z (I’m feeling it – in the back seat sipping….), Daz/Dogg Pound (Have you ever had some bomb arse poosay…) Boogie Down Productions (My Philosophy – Nuff said), Onyx (Imma have to pull your skirt up…), Eric B & Rakim (I aint no joke…), Big Pun of course (I'm not a player I just f*ck a lot) – and er ah the trashy rapper we all love to hate... Little Kim (Handle it like a real beotch…).
Sigh – memory lane is a beotch.
Anyhooo – for some reason, for the past few weeks I’ve been stopping at a few of the 50 Cent songs. The ones with the great bass lines – very smooth. Middle eastern sound in most backgrounds; 70's type music in the others. And his voice is…well, er ah.. somehow -- oddly sexy.
And he er ah has a great body from what I’ve seen cruising the channels – not that I would normally look twice at a man as big, strong, black, and absolutely urban as he. If approached by these "types" I would surely suffer fear -- increased heartbeats, clinch my purse and walk a bit faster like a white woman alone on a dark street (screaming HELP inside).
*unless I am somehow developing a fondness for big, black, strong, criminal-minded, alpha male rappers -- lawd, I hope not*
Well. There is just something about his voice and music that does not seem to mesh with his lyrics and image -- and I think this pulls in attention from folks such as myself who enjoy good music, but don’t really appreciate what rappers have to offer today.
I was in the car night before last and ran across his song with Mobb Deep - Outta Control - The Remix (and, yes I had to make THREE calls to determine the name of the record) and started bobbing my head a bit (Bounce with me now shorty let's get into it...). Nice music - sexy piano, horns – and er ah good vibes. I was just enjoying myself while no one was watching.
Or so I thought.
My daughter came from the store to get more money and and yelled “MOMMY! What are you doing listening to that??” I explained I liked the beats and thought nothing else of it. She laughed and looked sideways.
I then asked her if she knew about his new movie “Get Rich or Die Trying”. I then added that she would not be able to go and see the movie.
Her response:
"Yes, I’ve heard about it and am not interested in seeing the movie anyways. Get Rich or Die Trying? I think I'd rather be broke. It really sounds like just too much work".
She then reached in the car, took money from my purse, and walked back to the store.
Classic.
Mind Dump #3,780,715
My sister and I were discussing f*cked up things I’ve had in my subconscious and done to others in child and adulthood. It’s scary the events she returned to my mind – a reminder of just how twisted I am and have always been.
Pet Food. Not Just for Animals Anymore...
As a child, I made beautiful pies of dry dog food by placing the food in water for a while and then making a whipped filling of sorts. My mom bought disposable pie pans just for my creations. I would at times use the same process for cat food, not whip the kibbles, but use them as garnish for the pies instead -- since then, most cat foods had more colors than most dog foods. Dirt was used for seasoning when making savory pies instead of sweet.
I had a mad scientist-type kitchen setup in the backyard. If you wanted to be my friend you had to eat whatever the chef (me) served up or take your arse home. They ate.
My Best Friend Socket Man. Killer for Hire...
My younger (adopted) sister slept on the bottom bunk while I slept on the top. She was a pain in the arse – bless her heart. I was an evil child, (the only one never christened or baptized) and, yes they all prayed for me.
There was a wall power socket beside where my younger sister slept.
A squirrel was trapped in the wall one autumn and you could hear him scratching from time to time - moreso at night. I told my little sister there was a little man living in the wall and that he was scratching to get out to her because she was a pain in my arse. I also explained that he and I were best friends and that he would do whatever I told him to do – I added that if she mentioned ANYTHING about him to ANYONE, I would tell him to kill her in her sleep.
She woke up in the middle of the night screaming and afraid to tell anyone about Socket Man for about 1.5 weeks until my mother had the squirrel removed. My mother considered putting her on strong meds until that point.
Damned Cheating Devil...
Reoccurring dreams are a beotch. I had one where I contested against the devil for a ring-slide competition. Imagine this: On the left we have an old school curtain rod with red circular shower curtain loops; on the right we have the same type of curtain rod with white circular shower curtain loops. Satan is on the left. I am on the right. We both have a rubber-tipped wooden pointer in hand, and are ready to compete. The winner is the person who first moves the curtain loops from the right of the shower rod to the left. Gunshot and we begin. I start quickly pushing the rings one at a time from right to left. Satan looked at me, grinned, and then in one quick stroke - instead of one by one, moved all of the rings from right to left and yells – YOU LOSE!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! In a wicked echoing voice. I would awaken screaming like my little sister at a Socket Man Fear Fest… or a white woman in a horror flick (damned they sure can scream). This dream went on until I was a teen.
I was also a sleep walker. Oftentimes awakening to someone turning on the kitchen light, after I’d made it down a hallway, 16 steps, across several rooms and to my favorite chair at the table.
Cheap Porn Stunts Your “Growth”...
Ehm. I can truly say that I am fully developed.
*pose*
I found a copy of Caligula while in middle school. I also scored a full box of Jeff Stryker films – an absolutely amazing performer was he! The GOOD stuff! I made my girlfriends skip after lunch classes to watch the films over and over again at my house. Smitten by pure perversion and gay porn in middle school – and encouraging others to watch as well. I really believe a start such as this opens boundaries. Explains a lot eh?
Sparking or Flat? Ice or No?...
My childhood boyfriend was a physically unattractive, obnoxious, loud mouthed arsehole from a very successful family. I was a bit of a handful myself. BUT - he more often than not ended up on top of discussions during conflict, so for a short time I decided to let him have “his” way.
No disagreements. No arguments. But, whenever he was feeling thirsty, his water I retrieved straight from the toilet bowl. I confessed this to him just last year.
Puuurfect pH. Puuurfect Cake...
I moved my cat’s litter box to the third floor storage room. Someone closed the crack I left in the door so that she might take her pee or poop in private, and let no one know the better. I didn’t notice the door was closed until two days later when something awful happened. I was headed to a huge party for which I was, as usual, expected to bring a magnificent cake for all to enjoy -- but.
*violins*
Spring was never waiting for us dear. It ran one step ahead as we followed in the dance. Between the parted pages and were pressed in love's hot fevered iron like a striped pair of pants. Mac Arthur Park is melting in the dark all the sweet green icing flowing down. Someone left the cake out in the rain (table) and I don't think that I can take it 'cause it took so long to bake (pick it up from Cakes & Company) it and I'll never have the recipe again oh no.
WELL some of you know the song, but anyhow.
Two hours before the party – while I was shifting over to flawless mode, let’s just say the cat made sure I knew there was an issue accessing her facilities. She walked on the cake box as it sat on the dining room table, moved to full squat mode, and took a long hot piss on the cardboard box. I ran over and picked her up while yelling “You nasty beotch!! What the f*ck is wrong with you!!??”. The stream of pee didn’t stop. She looked me in the eyes without blinking. She truly had the beotch fit of the year and gave me her arse to kiss.
It was far too late to have the cake replaced. I fixed the cake top, placed it in a real cake holder and took it to the party. I alerted all of my friends to NOT eat the cake and received rave reviews from all who did - they absolutely LOVED it. I guess there is a little something extra that cat piss adds to the cake after heavy drinking. Not one slice remained.
Pretty f*cked up huh?
Don’t wear them outside unless it’s your “time”, you have an overactive bladder, or are suffering from WPP (wet poohsay problems).
PERIOD
At no other time is wearing panties in public acceptable.
There is nothing wrong wearing panties for your partner indoors (Or should I note away from public? There is nothing wrong with a good backyard midnight runway role-play session.). Appease them when they want you to wear nice or naughty things; engage in a nice role-play evening; or, for those times YOU want a nice, naughty, or sexy feeling while cooking or cleaning -- wear those panties and new shoes you absolutely LOVE. This, of course also provides a nice performance for your partner.
...gotta keep the fire roaring in the kitchen folks.
But, in the home/home area people. Not out and about. There is nothing healthy with a piece of fabric being stuck against your poohsay or in your arse crack all day.
Let’s be honest folks. More often than not, the more intricate the panty design, the less flexible the garment. Lace trimmings may look soft and nice, but feels a bit uncomfortable near those sensitive areas. Pay attention to fabrics when buying panties for home sessions. And, "satiny" imitation silk is a no-no. Real silk, latex, viscose, or whatever the situation calls for is a must. Aren’t you worth the investment?
A nice boycut undie can get the job done if you are dealing with one of the three acceptable situations under which wearing panties outside of the home are permissible.
...and remember that HIGH-thread count COTTON is your friend. Very soft like silk and healthy for your poohsay. Treat her well, and she will always be supportive of you in return.
Let it breathe ladies!
Egotist: A person more interested in himself than in me.
-Ambrose Gwinnett Bierce
I am better than most people. If you wont agree, it’s because you are jealous that I am better than you.
I do things better than most people. Don’t hate me for it.
My friends are better than your friends. They do things better than your friends. They are more attractive than your friends (and, yes you are paranoid, and yes they don’t like you).
Its okay -- I allow everyone to love me, so you are lucky.
Damn. I’m magnificent.
...and don’t feel badly about it.
(My hormonal ramblings)
Most have urges we are not totally comfortable sharing with others. We try constantly to repress the urges, and rarely, if at all, react on them when others might see. Because of this, oftentimes we become unhappy and unhealthy in relationship with ourselves -- supporting separate lives to hide from others or feel more comfortable with Self.
We should do what we are and not feel badly about it. Even if the "parts" don't fit according to others.
I have quite an inner whore and I enjoy her.
Not the get on my knees and give trashy dudes head type of whore, but the whore who likes role play, dress up, rough play, and just about anything that comes to mind in the heat of lust – and I must admit my mind goes places that most have never gone before. She loves turning new “tricks”. I embrace my inner whore in discussion with a few friends, and some strangers (through random conversations) and try to maintain non-platonic relationships with those who embrace her as well. My inner whore at times leads me away from relationships with boring and predictable partners. A perfectly well skilled whore is she.
I am more sensitive than most believe I am.
And every now and then I fall apart. Mostly in private. Or take out my frustrations on someone who does not deserve it. A good release is healthy – it brings a nice color to the cheeks. I’ve become pretty “pink” in the past year. I care about my friends more than they realize.
I love to perform.
In conversations, dancing provocatively, karaoke, and just walking across the street in sexy high heels and skirts. Great, phenomenal, spontaneous (and at times, downright strange) things happen around me because of my energies.
I enjoy playing house and then breaking all of the toys.
I enjoy more than dating, less than living together situations. I am more comfortable away from home spending time with my partner, several nights per week. I enjoy sending a grocery list to my partner – I enjoy grocery and household shopping for my partner as well. I love wearing my partner’s apron and cooking in the “new” kitchen. I make breakfast each morning before my partner awakens, and I purr out a nice good morning with cup of coffee in hand. I pack a lunch for my partner before I depart for work. I prepare different lunches for several days each night I stay; and I also prepare dinner each evening I am there – paired with the perfect wine. I play the traditional role until things lead to the next stage, where they should naturally go; start to consider if continuing is just fun or worthwhile; and, then refuse to continue playing and break the toys (also see I am a relationship person below). Woe to the vanquished!
I am a relationship person.
But I refuse to even TRY placing a square peg in a round hole. I don’t try fitting anything, anywhere until after 30 days in a new relationship. Too many interesting pegs come along to take a bad fit. I like my hole round and have no intentions of making adjustments.
I am both selfish and giving.
I deserve all good that I receive – there is no such thing as receiving in excess. Plus, I deserve it more than most others. Every little thing I do is magic, and I love to bring a smile to the face of another.
So... I’m an outgoing, sensitive, pampered, domesticated, serial-dating, whore.
And I do it well. Do what you are.