If it's not Raven, it's crap...

"Remember: Two lines for positive, one line for negative, young lady." I don't remember how old I was the first time I went into a dollar store. Pretty young, I suppose, and it was a little shop in Quail Springs Mall appropriately named "Everything is a $1.00!!!" (with exclamation points and everything for emphasis). I was young enough to think that a store where every item cost $1.00 was amazing. In truth, the dollar store was the place to go if you needed cheap costume jewelry or more artificial flowers. That's about the only stuff they sold, nothing terribly useful...and forget about a brand name. Still, if you were a kid, the dollar store was the shit. Nowadays the dollar store is better than ever. Sure, they still sell cheap plastic flowers and toys only fit for the most illegitimate of your nieces and nephews*, but now they actually have somewhat useful products in stock as well. I've gotten a bit into the habit of checking the neighborhood Dollar

Because I can play with matches and these kindergartners are wearing paper sacks. Advantage: Me I usually watch the local morning news while I'm getting ready for work. I figure that way, I have sort of an inkling about what's going on in the world -- or at least in Oklahoma City -- before I'm chained to my desk for the next 8-10 hrs. This morning I was watching one of those pre-Halloween reports about the danger that certain costumes pose to children. The whole flammability thing and so forth. I kinda didn't see what the huge fuss was about , because on the whole, Halloween costumes are way safer than when, say, most of us were growing up. I mean the world is super fucked up these days, but I think that youngsters are coddled and ill-equipped to deal with the rawness that is life. Back in the day, if your homemade Batman costume went up in flames and melted to your skin...oh well...hope you stocked that utility belt with some good stuff, cause you were gonna have to ju

As my personal assistant (and honorary mulatto), André , so kindly reminded me. Today is the second annual Hug A Mulatto Day. I couldn’t be happier. So go forth and show your favorite half-black/half-white person some love.

Hey DJ...how YOU doin? See, I have this thing about DJs... and I guess my thing is that I really like them. I mean...seriously. There's almost nothing hotter to me than a guy that can beat juggle and do awesome cuts and all that shit... Conversely, there is almost nothing more unattractive to me than a really crappy DJ. As D, my crazy Senegalese friend, says, "It makes me want to put some voodoo on [their asses]." Not talking about those guys. Anyway, to top it all off, DJs have hot gear. Turntables...the vinyl...and especially those cute little headphones...and, you know, that thing they do when they're cueing up the song on the record *sigh* A girl could daydream about it all day. Well, at least this girl could. DJs are definitely sexy. Now, let me tell you about something that's not. Let me start off by saying, I don't really rate "being sexy on the job" very high (or anywhere) on my list of career priorities, but if I did, my current occupatio

"Haters can you see me now?/ A n***a pockets so swoll'/ They can't bear to see a young n***a whole, ballin' outta control." Oklahoma Lottery Update: It's been exactly a week since the lottery hit the 46th state of the Union (that would be Oklahoma, y'all). However, it took about 2 days of "lotto fever" for me to come to the conclusion that far too many people in this state are far too stupid to even play scratch-off ticket games. Remember when I wrote that lottery tickets went on sale at a ridiculously early hour of the morning ? Well, that same morning when I arrived at work, my current direct supervisor -- a woman whom I will refer to as "Jabba" (purely based on her rather unfortunate resemblance to a certain movie character) -- mentioned that she was at a convenience store shortly before 5am solely for the purpose of purchasing lottery tickets. She bought $30 worth. After our first break, Jabba giddily announced that she had scratch

Why, yes, that is a nearly empty bottle of DayQuil in the background. I'm chasing it down with beer. Once upon a time, when I was a baby bird, I received a cute black kitty-cat toy thing as a gift. You flipped this little switch and the kitty would walk. It didn't sit or do flips or anything like that. It just walked. However, like most battery powered/electronic toys in our house, it stopped working not long after I got it (yes, I tried replacing the batteries...duh). Kitty was not nearly as interesting to me after she went kaputt and was unceremoniously discarded. For a few years, at least. We were reunited around the time that I started high school. I happened across her one day in our backyard shed, her black "fur" looked pretty matted and gross. Still, overcome by a wave of nostalgia, I picked her up, brought her inside, popped in a fresh AA battery and flipped the switch. Nothing happened. So, I did what any young girl would do in the same situation. I got mysel

I can't think of a better way to begin the week. All sick and stuffed up, taking a generous swig from a bottle of DayQuil during my breaks and praying that one day I would be so lucky as to be able to afford the services of a handsome young man, whose only purpose would be to sit by my bedside whenever I'm sick, pat my forehead with a damp cloth, spoon feed me homemade chicken noodle soup, and occasionally lift a glass of water/Sprite/gin tonic to my lips for me to drink through a straw. Ok, ideally, I wouldn't be paying for this and I hope that some hottie would just do this for me of his own free will. However, I think hiring someone for the job would be a good investment and money well spent. Basically, I just want some fool to come and take care of me while I'm sick. I don't feel like this is too much to ask.

Q: What's scarier than being trapped in a room with a clown? A: Being trapped in a room full of 4 clowns For the sake of avoiding argument, let’s say that I have what is commonly referred to as a "friend". We’ll call this person, D. I met D in the summer of 2004 at the shittiest place that I’ve ever worked. Ironically, this is also my current (and hopefully very temporary) place of employment, albeit in a different department than before. D still works there (‘cept she’s in the Multilingual Department, speaking the French), so we see each other basically everyday at work. Sometimes I think D is crazy, she’s funny, but crazy. Five years ago she moved to Oklahoma from a country in West Africa to go to school. Five years in Oklahoma City and the one piece of American culture that she’s chosen to embrace…is country music. Not that I think country music is crazy…I just think it’s crappy. D is crazy for a whole ‘nother set of reasons that I may or may not get into at a later da

I think I spoke too soon about the highlight of my day. I just made a quick run to the corner 7-11 to buy some smokes. The nice late-night clerk chick was working (as opposed to the bitchy clerk chick with the weird skin condition who's there during the day). Anyway, there's this old guy standing by the register and he and the clerk are chatting and laughing about something. When I get up there, the clerk turns to me and says, "Do you have a minute? Can you explain how he does this?" And I'm like, "Wha?" So, I turn to look at the guy, and he has a small paper bag in his hand. Then he says, "Look, I have an invisible ball." Then, he proceeds to bounce said "invisible ball". He bounces it a few times before giving it one last, hard bounce...following the "ball" up with his eyes...and then "catching" it in the small paper bag. Except it really sounded like a tennis ball or something landed in the bag, even though ther

It's like herpes, but without the embarrassing breakouts...or so I've been told Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of our lives. Starting at 5:01am, Oklahoma State Lottery tickets go on sale. And y'all better believe that at the stroke of 5:01am... I'll be sprawled across my bed and tucked under my covers, mentally counting down the minutes until Alarm #2 goes off, and generally wishing that I didn't have to get up for work...cause...fuck the lottery, that's why. My dad might dig it though, because when Powerball gets here come November...he won't have to drive all the way to Kansas in order to play. But as for me personally...I mostly hate the lottery for two reasons. 1.) Picking numbers is hard work. Ok, not "hard work", but stupid and boring to me. I bet my dad thinks it's stupid and boring work as well, because occasionally on one of his little road trips up to KS, he'll buy a bang of tickets and give them to me or Robbyn to fill o

It's like a cross between Airplane! and every other Chuck Norris movie ever made...excluding Sidekicks . It's kinda sad, but Robbyn informed me this morning that The Delta Force was going to be on AMC tonight. This has been the highlight of my day. You probably won't understand (unless you're one of my siblings), and I don't really care if you do or not...but we (and when I say "we", I mean me, Robbyn, Remington and Cristal) watched this movie about a billion times. It's like right up there with Big Trouble in Little China and King Solomon's Mines in the category of "Most Overwatched Movies in the Brooks Household". We were some strange children. Oh man, Cristal is crackin me up right now, but I wish she would stop singing the Delta Force theme song...even though it is pretty bomb as far as movie themes go. A word from Cristal: "I used to be able to play [the Delta Force theme song] on the recorder . Really, I could. *long paus

"I just know when I'm gettin one, the other's gettin away." I must admit, Kanye sure was on to something with that observation. I got paid today and used some of that money to order chinese food, for I did not feel like cooking today. That's about it, jack. The massive temperature drop has given me a massive headache. Sorry, André, I'll have to give you an I.O.U on that funny (good for 1 hilarious tap dance). Either that, or I'll start slangin rocks and donating the proceeds to the charity of your choice...which, oddly enough, is me (imagine that). It's time for ER, bitches.

Ouch, baby. Very ouch. FYI: Yesterday, I changed my alarm clock tune to Three 6 Mafia - “Knock the Black Off Yo Ass”. I feel like the desired effect has been achieved. Two of my deep dark secrets: 1.) Sometimes, I like to express my thoughts and feelings in the form of a commercial-like jingle or TV show theme. 2.) If the timing isn’t exactly “appropriate” for a song, I try a visual representation in the form of a doodle, whilst my eyes glaze over…and I pretend to pay attention to what's going on around me. Wee. It’s fun and you should try it. If anything, it sure does pass the time. Today, I drew what I think many of my colleagues should do to themselves when they get home from work. I also drew a monster…but, for some strange reason, it kinda looked more like a vagina. Or a monster vagina. At any rate, I ended up having to throw that particular piece of paper away, because it had a bunch of numbers scribbled on it that shouldn’t be posted on the internet. Personally Identifiable

Last week, I started setting the alarm clock on my computer to play M.O.P's Ante Up at 4:45am (and then again at 5:15am). It's not, like, "blow-the-walls-out" loud (although, that would be so verrrrrry fucking sweet...), but it's basically loud enough to jolt me out of my sleep and get me semi-amped for the day...like, "wanna-knock-a-nukka-out" amped... I figure, since I'm gonna feel like that until 4pm anyway, then it's helpful to have that particular little ditty a-runnin' through my head. This morning started out fairly routine...until I stepped into the shower and the Quantum Leap theme song inexplicably popped into my head. *sigh* I dunno either, man. First of all, I have not watched Quantum Leap in forever. Secondly, it might as well have been the theme song to M.A.S.H ...'cause that shit did nothing to get me pumped. Though, I will admit, I was feeling pretty aggressive around 10am, when I realized the tune was still stuck in m

Woogie-Boogie The year that I entered the second grade at Ridgeview Elementary was the same year that Remington and Cristal started kindergarten at that very same school. We all went to Ridgeview until I went off to middle school. I didn't mind going to the same school so much, because we never really encountered each other during the day. We had different lunch times and recess periods and were, for the most part, in completely different areas of the building. There was a time when our dad used to pick us up after school on a fairly regular basis. However, most of the time, we had to walk home together. Our house wasn't terribly far away from the school (about a 20-30min walk, give or take). Quite often, Cristal would say something to me during this walk that would just annoy the shit out of me and I would swing my backpack full of books around and wack her. Then she'd spend the rest of the journey home crying. That's a pretty accurate description of the early years of