Friday, February 12, 2010

Death To Emo Tweeters

I know that Twitter is the place where people come to overshare. We share what we had for lunch, how bad a co-worker’s breath smells, and even details about body functions (“when did I eat corn?) But lately, I’m noticing an increase of emo tweets, and not just from women. If you’ve been guilty of tweeting any of the following on more than one occasion, please cease & desist effective immediately.

1.  Needy Tweets: “It’s so cold. I wish I had someone to cuddle with. ;(” The same person who tweets this will also get mad when a random follower replies “Hey ma. Want me to come over?” Not the attention you wanted? Welp, you opened that door.
2.  Tweets of Distress: “OMG! I just cut my finger. There’s blood everywhere!” Why are you Tweeting with a bloody finger? Go clean that up! I don’t believe you anyway. But I’m sure a Twitpic that looks like it was taken at a crime scene will soon follow to prove me wrong. “I have a fever of 103. Dizzy...” Ok, if your brain is baking, why are you tweeting? When I’m sick, the last thing on my mind is notifying all of my followers about it in real-time. I can understand tweeting “I’m not feeling well. Going to lay down.” And then actually going to lay down & returning when eggs can no longer be fried on your head. But no one needs constant updates while your face is in a toilet. I’ll never understand this. I’ve seen people Tweet from the hospital. Why are we getting constant updates from your deathbed? I’m not a doctor. I can’t help you! If you want to talk to strangers about your various medical issues, go to a message board on Web MD. I get need constant attention. Get a puppy. Actually, don't. Because then we'll have to hear about him pooping in your shoe. 
3.  Subliminal Tweets: Any Tweet that ends with “you know who you are!” sends me into a tizzy. Why don’t you just take direct shots? Those of us who this is not directed at are now getting hit by stray bullets. Then, God forbid anyone should ask you who or what you’re talking about. The response is either “nobody” or “never mind” or my favorite…no response at all! You threw this out there because you wanted someone to ask. Well, I’m asking. So stop being so damn passive.
4.  Billy Badass Tweets: “I just finished cussing this fool out at the Taco Bell drivethru!” Good for you. I hope you realize he spit in your Enchirito. “I wish this &%$# would call me one more damn time!” Girl, bye. You aint finna do nothin’. Showing Twitter what a badass you are doesn’t make you look like a tough guy. It makes you look like a crazy person with no self control. Chances are, the person this tweet is directed at isn’t even following you on Twitter so why are we being subjected to your threats? Text them that shit, since you’re so hard.
5.   Lovesick Tweets: These are usually shoved down our proverbial throats via some corny ass song lyric. “Tell me how I’m supposed to breathe with no air?” I don’t know. But I bet if you were out of air you’d tweet about that too. 
6.  Reaching Out…But Not Really: “I’ve been crying all night. My eyes are swollen. I don’t know how to fix this.” Again, you’re opening the door to questions that you don’t want to answer. You don’t need Twitter. You need a diary. Now, I can totally understand feeling down & hopping on Twitter hoping that a little entertainment will cheer you up. But if your current state can't be described in 140 characters and my timeline is now filled with how “numb” you feel, you need to log off & thaw out.
7.  Rants Nobody Gives A Shit About: Last time I checked, Twitter was a social networking site. It’s kind of hard to be social or network when every other day you’re tweeting about how misunderstood you are and about how little you care about your haters or people who aren’t “real”. “..and if you can’t see that about me then unfollow me cuz I don’t need you in my life!” Twitter isn’t therapy. That’s what blogs are for. And vodka. And Zoloft. You’re limited to 140 characters for a reason. Some of y’all need way less than that.

Here’s a tell tale sign that your followers no longer give a shit about your emo tweets: If you tweet “I just got hit by a car & my leg is hanging on by a tendon” and no one responds, you’ve lost your captive audience. You’ve been annoying all of your followers for some time. Stop crying wolf all the damn time & maybe someone will actually ask you if you’re ok. After all, that is your main objective right? 

Thursday, February 11, 2010


My letter in response to the article found here: 

I just finished reading this steaming pile that you call a response to the insensitive comments that John Mayer made in his Playboy Magazine interview. What concerns me most about your “response” is that in light of his racist, sexist & degrading comments, all that you seem to be concerned about is that your chances of ever getting to ride his David Duke are now out the window. It’s pretty clear to me that you’re insecure and that you have issues with your blackness that started WAY before this article leaked yesterday. First off, my legs did NOT snap shut when I read his interview. They were NEVER open to John Mayer! I don’t find his sophomoric fart humor or “off beat” TMZ sound bytes intriguing or humorous. He’s made a name for himself (outside of his music) by being a complete douche nozzle. I’m only familiar with 2 of his songs & I couldn’t hum a single bar to either one if Jigsaw had me chained to a water heater. So you’re clearly delusional if you think millions of black women have been checking for John Mayer like that. Second, you’re placing blame on John Mayer for your own feelings of invisibility whenever you enter a room full of white men. Honey, it’s not John Mayer’s fault that white men don’t find you attractive. It’s not his fault that you’ve never in your 22 years been “hit on” by a white man. It’s YOUR fault. YOU need to stop looking for scapegoats and start looking within. I’ve never met you in my life and I can tell just by reading this article that you’re self-loathing. So I can only imagine that you exude this while in social settings. When you go out, your mind is already made up that none of the white boys will approach you and I’m sure your body language & overall aura makes you both unapproachable & undesirable. I’ve dated men of every color. I guess you can say my heart is Benetton too. And them approaching me had nothing to do with how I was dressed or how I look. I’m fun, and confident, and smart & not desperate. I don’t go to social gatherings for sexual validation. I don’t feel ugly or unsexy in a room full of any race of people. I couldn’t care less if I get approached by men when I go out. I’m confident & happy with myself. And when men see women that exude these qualities, they’re intrigued by it. As soon as you begin to realize that you’re your own worst enemy, you can stop blaming douchebags that would never give you the time of day anyway for your own shortcomings. You grew up “hearing” that black is beautiful. You grew up “knowing” people who felt this. But you clearly don’t feel it yourself. How do you expect anyone else to think you’re beautiful if YOU don’t believe it yourself? Work on yourself La Toya and stop blaming others. 

Saturday, February 6, 2010

Ooops! I Did It Again!

Ok, so I was dating this guy years ago. We’d been seeing each other for a few months exclusively. He lived about 30 miles from my house so to be fair we’d trade off on whose house we’d spend time at. This one particular weekend he was off Friday & Saturday so he came down to my house to stay with me. He had to work Sunday morning so he brought his work clothes with him so that he could get up Sunday morning, get dressed, and head to work.

Saturday night/Sunday morning we were in the bed knocked out. I was in that serious REM when I hear “OH SHIT.” I woke up startled. “What’s wrong?” I asked. He didn’t say anything. My heart was beating fast. I fumbled for the light on the nightstand. I looked over and he was just sitting up in the bed. “What’s wrong?” I asked again. “I peed in your bed.” he said. I’m thinking I know I didn’t hear that right. “What?” I asked. By now I’m FULLY awake. “I peed in your bed!” he repeated. “Well GET UP!” I shouted. I was a little irritated by him being so casual about having just urinated in my bed! I sprung to my feet & snatched back the sheets. Sure enough his pants were saturated and so were my sheets! He slowly got up and walked to the bathroom. I was tired and didn’t appreciate being awakened by someone yelling “OH SHIT!” But I took into consideration that he was probably VERY embarrassed and I didn’t want to treat him like a leper. I told him it was ok, these things happen sometimes. I remember even telling him about the time that I had a “pee dream”. I had this dream that I was at The White House and needed to use the bathroom. I remember walking down all these confusing hallways until I found this grand lavatory with golden sinks & toilets. I sat down to pee and the warmth is actually what woke me up. Of course I was a 9 year old girl when this happened, not a 27 year old man. But I digress. I pulled the wet sheets & the soaked egg crate off the bed. I rolled up the crate & stuffed it into the kitchen trash. That crate actually saved my mattress. I put on some fresh sheets and after he was all cleaned up, we got back in the bed & went back to sleep.

Fast forward to a few weeks later. SAME scenario. We’re asleep again at my place. It’s late night/early morning. I’m KNOCKED out. And I hear “Not again!” I woke up and he says, “I peed in your bed again.” This time supportive Christine was not in the building. “WTF is wrong with you!” I yelled. It was the 1st thing that came out of my mouth. I’d gone to Target a few days before to get a new egg crate & they didn’t have queen size so this time the only thing between his wet pants & my mattress was a soaked sheet. I was FURIOUS. Once again, I snatched the sheets off and he just stood there watching me as I scrubbed the mattress with a sponge & Pine-Sol in my yellow rubber gloves. I couldn’t believe that I had been awakened out of my slumber AGAIN because this grown man couldn’t control his fluid intake before bed and I’m having to flip my mattress over at 3:00 in the morning. I asked him if this had ever happened to him before and he swore that it hadn’t. I actually Googled “adult bed wetting” to see if I could make some sense of this. The search results said he either had a prostate issue or some psychological issue or he just needed to stop drinking beverages before bed. Whatever the case was, it was a huge turn off. I didn’t give him a 3rd chance to pee in my bed. We ended pretty soon thereafter.  

Why We Can't Be Friends

Dear ______________:

I remember the last time we spoke. Things had changed between us. Actually, they’d probably been changing for a while and I was just ignoring the signs. I was ignoring what I knew deep down inside was the inevitable. I wanted things to be like they were at the beginning. I guess I was grasping at straws. You were pulling away. You were growing distant. And I felt it. So I held on tighter, which only made you pull away even more. Our daily contact eventually dwindled down to no contact at all. Days turned into weeks, which turned into months, which leads us to where we are today.

As you can probably imagine, I’m shocked to be hearing from you again after all this time. If one were to use the analogy of me having a wall built around me, I’d retort that you were one of the masons on the project. I’m a little more guarded now because of you. I’m a little less trusting now because of what you put me through. Sure the wounds have healed but the scars are still there. And now after all this time has passed you want to be my friend? Now you want to be all chatty as if nothing ever happened? You think you can just step back into my life as if nothing ever happened & pick up where we left off? Do you have the attention span of a goldfish? Have you forgotten everything that quickly? Or are you hoping that I have? Well, I haven’t. And I’m a little insulted that you think I have. Seeing your name pop up in my inbox brings back too many memories, both good & bad. But mostly bad. I remember how things were the last time we spoke. I remember being in a place emotionally that I didn’t like being in. I remember feeling insecure & paranoid & sick to my stomach. I remember not being able to eat or sleep and crying. A lot. I remember the months & years that went by when I tried to avoid certain songs, certain movies, even certain foods because they reminded me of you. And truth be told, I didn’t WANT to remember you. And guess what? It worked. I managed to suppress thoughts of you for so long, I actually stopped caring & I forgot about you. I stopped wondering what really happened. I stopped asking myself “how could someone who says they care about someone treat them like this?” I filled my life with people and things that make me happy. 

My life is great now and I’m in a great place. And now you want to know what I’ve been up to? Now you want to catch up? If you wanted to be a part of my life, you should have stayed in it. You chose to remove yourself. I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in bringing you up to speed. You don’t deserve to know what I’ve been up to. I will never be one of your homegirls. I will always be a woman whose heart you broke.  I accepted this a long time ago. Now it’s your turn. Time has passed and you realize how much better your life was with me in it. Well, that same time has helped me realize how much better mine is without you in it. I’d be a fool to let you back into my life and give you another chance to do more damage. Since you’ve been gone, I’ve been staying away from guys like you. I’d be a masochist if I let you back in. I’m sorry, but we just can’t be friends.


Monday, February 1, 2010

I Waited 2 Years For THIS?!

On August 9, 2007 I got my boobs done. As the story goes, I was working for a company and got laid off the same day I was going to give notice. I had two weeks until my new job was going to start and a wad of cash in my hand so a good friend of mine convinced me to go for it. He knew how much I wanted to get this done. I remember being at his house not too long before that showing him my doctors website & pictures of some of his work. So, without even having a consultation I called the doctor that I’d been stalking for nearly 1 year and scheduled the surgery. I paid for it in full the same day. (I don’t recommend that anyone do this without having a consultation first, but I was 100% confident about my doctor. And I’m a little impulsive sometimes. Don’t judge me.) So, I had my surgery. Everything was GREAT. Months later I wrote my doctor a letter telling him about how happy I was with my surgery. His wife read my testimonial and asked me if I’d be interested in being featured on their site. As long as I didn’t have to show off the girls I was ok with it.

So, in April 2008 I had my photo shoot. I met with a great photographer in Hollywood who took some amazing shots. I was able to keep a CD. (He shot 5 rolls total so the CD had approximately 500 photos.) After my shoot, I contacted my doctor’s office & was told that my pictures would be featured on the site sometime in the fall. I was so excited! Month after month I kept checking the site and there were no pics. I sent a few emails over the course of the 2 years asking for an update & was told that some of the other pictures that were up were old as well. Last Thursday I was informed that I would be up in February! Here we are TWO years later. The pics are finally up today, February 1st, 2010. Here are my issues:

1.) There was some paraphrasing done on my bio. I see grammatical errors & y’all know I be speakin’ proper & shit. (Seriously though, the grammar in MY bio was spot on. It borderline atrocious now.)

2.) There were some BEAUTIFUL shots that were taken that aren’t featured. I had 4 or 5 different looks and they only featured me in ONE. (see my current pic on Twitter @steenfox.) One of my LEAST favorite pics of the 500 is the one they have of me peeking through the bushes. And that's the default. Seriously?

3.) The red leopard print dress was actually NOT red. So, someone took the time to make that dress red to give me a different look when there are 496 other pictures to choose from.


I may sound ungrateful, but I was over this SUCH a long time ago. They [these pictures] stopped being important to me sometime during the last decade. I just can’t believe that I waited two years for THIS. I emailed them this morning and asked that they please correct the spelling of my name. (If you really want to ruffle my feathers, call me Christina.) I kinda want to mark up the bio & send them corrections on the grammar as well. I hate that shit. My pics will be up there until the end of time and I have shitty grammar & I’m wearing a red Photoshopped Bebe dress. FML.

Here's a link to the site. This site is NSFW so if you get fired for looking at titties, you can't come stay on my couch.