It’s Holly

bitch, fail.

PITTSBURGH — A 20-year-old volunteer for John McCain’s campaign has admitted that she lied when she said she was attacked by a robber who carved a “B” into her cheek when he saw a McCain bumper sticker on her car, Pittsburgh police said Friday.

Keep reading…

Big ups to Antoine, a.k.a. Mr. Day Job @ IHMDJ, for the tweet about The Bradley Effect, and how it could possibly effect Barack Obama’s presidential bid and explain the latest surge of the McCain/Palin massacre in the polls. Inneresting stuff.

Read up, it explains a lot.

Music is a super important part of my life. If you know me at all, you know that’s nothin but the truth. It’s entertainment, it’s art. I often associate certain songs with important events in my life…we all do that. We do it in the office all the time.

For example::

:: fade in Pretty Brown Eyes by Mint Condition::

Mikee: OMG, I love this song.

Holly: I know, right?

Mikee: How long ago was this?

Holly: 6th grade, cause I had a crush on Joseph and we danced to this after school at one of those super lame cafeteria middle school dances.

:: fade out Pretty Brown Eyes ::

I couldn’t tell you what year that was off the top of my head, but I remember what was happening in my life when that song first came out.

And I love that…

Except when songs you really really love, you know… the songs you crave so much that you can’t sleep until you hear them, or you at least have to sing the whole song through in your head… except when those songs that you cherish most remind you of bad things, sad things, bad people. It ruins a perfectly good song… For a little while at least. No matter how much you love the song, you know it’s hard to hear it.

Sigh…

so many songs I want to listen to right now.

Like, really?

So, we have two bathrooms at work. Neither is designated for either sex. With 50+ people working in a given day, it’s understood that the after lunch funk in the bathroom is atrocious.

So, out of the kindness of my heart, with all of my loving generosity (AND my own money), I purchased the new Febreze NOTICEables. Everyone noticed, of course, and thanked me profusely for my philanthropic donation to their own personal bathroom hells.

Today, no more than 10 minutes ago, I went into the bathroom to find my air freshener no longer there, and the smell of after-lunch ass and country garden industrial air perfume smacking me in the face.

What?! Where’s my air freshener? I run out into the warehouse to see if they moved it to the other bathroom. No? No AIR FRESHENER?! Someone really jacked my air freshener?! Like, really? Are you *serious right now?

I’m convinced the janitor has it for ransom until he gets a new mop. Of course, I put a notice up:

Hopefully, it will be returned soon, and we won’t have to endure the funk any longer.

::fingers crossed::

wtf, yo? like, really?

… is what some of my favorite songs already say so well:

i was burned, but i’ll call it a lesson learned. – alicia
i’m bruised, but not broken. – joss
what goes around comes all the way back around. – justin
we fall down, but we get up. – donnie
i hate you so much right now. – kelis

There’s a silver lining for every cloud… every dark, niggerish cloud.

Jill Scott = Amazing. That’s what she is. 1/2 Woman, 1/2 amazing. There’s no way words can describe what an amazing show it was on Thursday night, including the 2nd encore (!!!), so I won’t even try. You should have been there.

Shit’s on fire here.

Sun rise over Encinitas, red from all the particulate in the air.

But I made Cobbler.

Cherry pie filling, yellow cake mix, butter. It’s that simple.

So, I’ve had headaches the past couple of days from all of the smoke and ash in the air, but it looks as if the wind has blown a lot of it out today, thank goodness. There are a couple of fires closer to my house, but I’m still not worried enough to sit at home and bite my fingernails. If the fire reaches anywhere near the ocean, we have much bigger problems to worry about… like, where the fuck to go.

But my cobbler was excellent – especially with french vanilla ice cream.

I was debating whether to call this entry “The Real O.C., like, FOR REAL for real”, or simply what it is… “The O.C. for black folk”.

This weekend Patrick and I stayed in Laguna Beach, with plans to go to Catalina on Saturday. Unfortunately, due to weather, we never made it to Catalina (I wasn’t tryin’ to get stuck on an island in the rain), so we just slummed around Laguna for the weekend. We weren’t in the city for an hour before we felt how “white” Laguna Beach is. Some examples…

PCH
The first thing I noticed is how little of the beach you can actually see from Pacific Coast Highway. There are houses right up against the coast, and they (note: and by “they” i mean “the white people”) plant large bushes and build big ass walls to keep their privacy. That’s understood. But dang, can I see some coastline from PACIFIC COAST HIGHWAY? I guess not.

Rubys
We end up at Ruby’s Diner for a late dinner, where we sat in the corner of the restaurant overlooking the entire place. We were seated immediately. After waiting for about 5 minutes, a lady from another table comes up to us and says “Have you been helped yet? I’m waiting for my food, they haven’t even given you drinks yet?” Now, Patrick and I weren’t really trippin… but this lady was – real hard. Oh, she’s white (just for reference). So she gets up, all huffy n’ shit, and takes the first waitress she sees by the arm and says “My waitress disappeared, we don’t know where she is, and those people, those people over there ::shaking her index finger at us:: don’t even have drinks yet!”

The waitress explained that a large party came in late (we could see them, they were like, 30 deep, 20 of them kids) and that they had already let most of the waitresses go for the night, hence the slow service. The waitress apologized again. The crazy lady went off and said “You know what, I don’t need to talk to you…” and started walking over to the manager. And, again, said “Where’s my waitress? Those people don’t have drinks yet! ::pointing at us, again::”.

At this point, we decided that she works as a teacher at an inner city school, and she just happens to have a soft spot for the blacks. She just cared SO MUCH about our drinks and that we got good service. Thanks, random white lady. You’re not all the devil.

Chronic Tacos
As we drove up PCH, we kept passing this place called Chronic Tacos. Chronic… and tacos? Like, my two of my favorite things in one place? Heck yes!

Unfortunately, Chronic Tacos was neither the Chronic… nor the Taco. The set up was similar to Chipotle (which I refer to as “clean mexican food”, as opposed to somewhere ending in “-bertos”, which i refer to as “dirty mexican food), where they make the food right in front of you. The only problem is that they were trying to use dirty mexican ingredients in a clean mexican restaurant fashion. No bueno. So, Patrick and I came up with a list of ways to know whether or not you’re in a real taco shop.

1. Rolled tacos must be on the menu, and they MAY NOT be called taquitos.

2. A California Burrito must be on the menu, and it must be referred to as a California Burrito.

3. We’ll let Carne Asada Fries slip, but Nachos does not equal Carne Asada Chips.

4. Real taco shop cooks don’t use gloves to prepare your food, nor should you see them actually preparing your food. If gloves are worn, they’re “part of the uniform”, as Patrick put it… meaning they don’t come off FOR SHIT. You put on the gloves when you get there, and take that same pair off when you leave. The dude at Chronic Tacos was changing his gloves every time he touched something new. Pussy.

5. 3 tacos and a burrito should NOT be $17. Anywhere. Ever. Oh, except at Chronic Tacos.

6. There should be a green salsa and a red salsa. Red salsa must not be “salsa fresa”, or, as it was at Chronic Tacos, “Pace Picante”.

So, they’re trying real hard to be a taco shop, but it’s just not working. The customer service was excellent, but the food just wasn’t on point. He explained to us how the shrimp taco is “baja style”, with cabbage and lime. I’m like, dude, that’s Rubio’s style, and you’re just frontin’. Disappointing. Very, very disappointing, Chronic Tacos.

Overall, Laguna was fun. Well, making fun of some of the white people was real fun. But that’s always fun. There’s just so much material to work with in Laguna!

I had the worst cramps EVER last night. Damn you, uterus, and all your life-giving properties! Trying to explain to a boy what cramps feels like is difficult. Hopefully, this conversation I had with Mikee will clear it up a bit.

Holly: i had the worst cramps last night, i thought i was dying from the inside.

Mikee: i wish i could say “i know how you feel”

Holly: LOL

Holly: imagine a charlie horse… but in your stomach.

Holly: lol

Mikee: OMG

Mikee: haha

Mikee: damn

Holly: or like, having to shit really bad, but there’s not shit.

Holly: lol

Holly: it’s like your ass is dry heaving. lol

Mikee: aha