Terminated During Probationary Period

Official Notice

July 18, 2005

JLT
Atlanta, Georgia

Dear JLT:

This is to notify you that you are hereby being terminated for providing false information during the recruiting process. You were not truthful about your qualifications and misleading regarding your experience. Combined with your mistrust of your employer, excessive use of alcohol on the job and pyschotic tendencies, it is not with regret that we inform you that your services are no longer needed.

And that is the end of that... sJea no longer has a man...

It's like Tazzee says - A relationship ain't a relationship until you get past the 90 day probationary period. And like Chris Rock says - The relationship representative will show up at first.

And that's exactly what happened to me. I was hoodwinked, bamboozled, led astray. I'm actually kind of pissed at myself. I'm old enough to know better.

He said he was a minister. Um, yeah...interesting that he quoted the most scripture when he was two sheets to the wind.

He said that he was trusting. Funny how our every phone conversation started with the Big 3 questions - Where are you? What are you doing? Who's with you?

He said that he admired a confident woman with her own opinions, own interests and a life outside of the relationship. Amazing how he constantly attempted to control how I responded to him by accusing me of constantly getting smart with him and using a flippant tone. So much so, that for about 2 seconds I was hesitating before I responded to him because I was considering how to say what I was going to say without pissing him off. And when I would give him an opinion that did not line up with his unfortunately narrowminded ideas, he would quickly cut me off in mid-sentence and dismiss what I'd said with no thought for my feelings. Sadly, he never wanted to hear about anything that was going on in my life because he was so busy telling me what was going on in his. (I mean, I know I'm a good listener, but day-um!) And anytime I left the house to live my life (any purpose not work related), he called and texted me consistently. (During one of my softball games, he sent me 24 texts within an hour.)

And I could go on...but just thinking about all that this relationship was supposed to be, but wasn't makes me tired. I was quite optimistic on the outset (hell, I'm the original eternal optimist). I wanted to fall in love with this man and have him be the last man I ever loved on this earth. However, even in my eternal optimism dwells realism and the real of it, life is too short to subject yourself to assholes.

So, what did I end up with?

Another notch on a belt that really has no room for any more notches.

Flat Abs...PHAT @$$...Flat Abs....PHAT @$$...

That's my chant for when i'm working out, during my morning walk, while taking my step classes and when I'm doing crunches.

It helps me keep a mental picture of what I am working to achieve.

Flat abs...PHAT @$$!!!

(And of course I mean Pretty, Hot And Tempting!)

Drums, please...(Okay, that SO does not fit here and is actually kind of whack and when I typed it, I could immediately hear Will Smith at the start of Summertime, but I was feeling it, so...)

However, I digress.

My alarm is set for 615am. Most mornings, I fervently wish for a nice little .38 caliber pistol to exact quick punishment on the little black bose stereo at the side of my bed that dares to disturb my peaceful, wonderful beauty rest. As the fog of sleep clears from my mind and I become cognizant of the fact that I'm supposed to be hopping out of the bed eager to get out in the sticky, humid heat of the morning to trek two and a half miles in the attempt to 'get fineR', I sigh deeply, yawn once, stretch slowly and roll back over.

Well, yesterday, a question ran across my mind that once I considered the answer, it pushed me out of bed into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. The answer forced me into my sports bra, loose fitting white tee (ain't nothing you can't do in a white tee), spandex shorts, pompom socks and nike tennis shoes. It sent me into the kitchen for that first morning glass of water. It caused me to pick up my headset, clip on my cell phone and pick up my protector (which on the outside looks like a simple 3' walking stick stick but actually the handle pulls out to reveal a 12" shank that I not only know how to use, but will not hesitate to do so should someone intend to do me harm - what can I say? I don't like violence, but I AM walking around in the West End of Atlanta at 630am) . It propels me out the door, down the stairs, past that loud @$$ Sheba (Mr. Lomax's German Shepard who HATES me) and down the sidewalk where supposedly, I am delighted to be breathing in the half wet, hot, heavy morning air.

And what is the twenty pound question?

Well, I say to myself, "Self, what's more important to you? Another 60 minutes of sleep which will allow you to remain a fat ass with two tummies that crease when you sit down? or Getting your rear in gear and sticking with the 'get fineR' program that will get you to the flat abs and phat @$$ that you dream about?"

And of course the answer -

Flat abs...PHAT @$$! ! !

Twenty Pounds

"I'm FAT." (Said like Adel Givens in Queens of Comedy)

Well, I'm not really that damned fat. And most people tell me that I don't look like I need to lose weight. (Stop being nice - I can see my fat ass tummies that I'm trying to cover up with loose fitting summer tops.) And when I tell them that I weigh nearly 200 pounds they say I must be lying (Trust - if I was going to lie about my weight, I would say that I weigh 145.)

I'm 5'10" tall and I weigh 197 pounds. Sometimes, I console myself that there are really fat people in the world who would KILL to lose weight to the size that I am now and think that they are every bit as fine as beyonce, halle, and jlo all rolled into one.

I actually like MOST of my body. I'm just carrying about twenty pounds that gives me two tummies and screw up my whole body image.

Twenty pounds that keep me from wearing the cute little summer styles that I want to wear. Twenty pounds that keep me from being able to comfortably shop in The Limited and Gap and Banana Republic (and have the clothes fit they way I want them to). But that have me about twenty pounds too small for me to shop in Lane Bryant and Ashley Stewart (and have the clothes fit properly). Twenty pounds that convince me that I am NOT as fine as beyonce, halle and jlo all rolled into one.

So, I'm doing something about it. I'm on my fourth straight day of morning walks. I've been walking about 2.5 miles in the morning. Sunday morning, I upped it to about four miles and then Sunday evening, I convinced my mom and two of my sisters to walk another three miles.

After the workouts, I do at least 30 crunches and 30 double leg lifts.

During the day when I'm sitting at work, I do chair workouts. Mostly arm raises and curls when an upbeat song that I really like comes on the radio. I'm doing ab squeezes and of course kegels (but those ain't got nothing to do with my weight).

I'm about to start walking in the evenings as well - just as the sun is setting - when you can at least breathe outside. (It's been so hot in Atlanta lately, Lucifer was at Five Points trading bottled water for souls, saw Jesus at Centennial playing in the water fountain and God himself was at Piedmont in a short set and some Blublockers.)

When I'm at home, I'm making it a point to do something physical while I'm watching television or talking on the phone. Like single and double leg lifts and more crunches.

And I'm okay with all of the activity. But the truth be told, if my money was right, I would just have the lipo that I got the consult for last year. Because really, I just want a flat tummy. I'll keep everything else.

But since I can lose twenty pounds for free, I'll try that first. I'll check back in to let you know how I'm doing and since I can't remember what my body looks like at 180, I'll let you know if I find it to be an acceptable body image.

WARNING: Brain Leak

This post is one long rambling thought. Apologies prior to for subjecting you to this.

I went away for a while.

Hence my "Gone Fishing" sign.

I had to take a bit of time to do some inner searching. I needed to sit still and listen for the voice from the center part of me to see if I would be familiar with its sound when it whispered.

You see, in trying to find myself, I lost a part of who I was. Well, I didn't really lose it. More accurately, I tried to deny that it was there.

I'm sure you're wondering by now - what in DAHELL is this chick talking about?

I thought I'd found God. And from what they told me, the God I found would make me into this near perfect person and this God, in all his goodness, grace and mercy would turn me into this awesomely successful and wonderful individual who could withstand the trials of this world with little more than a bible, a prayer and a word.

Um, yeah...okay.

What I discovered in the last six months - I am not THAT good. And the life that they are preaching to me is easier preached than lived.

At one point, in my hypocritical self-righteousness, I would passionately proclaim that even though I knew that I could NEVER be perfect that I was GLAD to have a standard that I could attempt to live up to. Blind to the fact that living right consistently on the day in/day out is fucking impossible.

And I am pissed off. Why? Because I felt like I was sold a bullshit dream based on an unreal expectation of goodness and light dressed in a superhero costume slaying all vestiges of sin from my being.

Dunt-dunt-duuunnnn - SuperChristian to the rescue.

Now all I have to say is get away from me with that.

I am an imperfect being.

And I don't like facing my imperfections or admitting my sins. I try to go for months at a time and pretend that they don't exist. But I can't fool myself for very long, because just when I think I've got them tucked away in a little manageable corner of my existence, they jump out on me and scare the shit out of everybody I know.

For instance, I like to curse. I like it. Now, I don't mean that I curse like a sailor, but a well placed sh!t or a got-d@mn or a wtf? feels good, feels right, just feels like it fits.

Another example - Along with procrastinating, I am EXTRA good at starting sh!t and not finishing it. I could give many examples here - but once I got around to actually starting the list I would never be able to finish the list.

I'm a fornicator. For about six months, I was really trying not to be. But that mess don't work so well when you're a healthy sexually experienced and aware being. Besides, all that whole Tweet routine was NOT satisfying a sista'.

I have a mad lazy streak. Sometimes, I just don't want to do a damn thing, but sit on my arse, read or surf or daydream or just sleep. Trust me when I say I can sleep anytime, anyplace. Just give me about five minutes of inactivity and I could be dead to the world in the middle of a battlefield.

I'm still trying to figure out how God fits into all of this. I do still believe in Him and a LOT of what goes along with all that. I'm starting to realize that I let religion get in the way of my relationship and in doing that, I became someone that people who knew me didn't like. The saddest part about it - I didn't even realize it was happening.

Now, LanaC, when you get to reading this, don't get all worried about me and schedule an all night prayer vigil. I'm still on the right path. I'm just taking the time to consider all of who I am and find a way to walk this walk and still look in the mirror on a daily basis and know that I am living as well as I can but at the same time, being honest with myself and others about how far short I fall.

And trust, I fall WAAAAYYYY short.

coming attractions...

i am working on some new posts...

letter to my father...

soul food...

don't let me die...

an evening stroll...

right now...they are all half thoughts...that i am trying to get through to completion...thanks for checking in and bearing with...

feel free to post your guesses on the actual content of the coming attractions...

gone fishing...

could mean any number of things...maybe i'll explain when i get back...or not...

clarissa's catering company

what is it about these lyrics that irk some women i know?

in my opinion...this song is about totally loving a man to the point where all you want to do is spoil him...see to his needs...make sure that you are the best that you can be for him...

and exactly what is wrong with that?

i...for one...want to AND DO cater to my man...the problem with most relationships is that more often than not...females run into TANS (trifling @$$ knee-grows) who are not worth catering to or end up in situations where the special attention is not reciprocated in equal measure...

as a result...my sisters and sistafriends end up so jaded and cynical that when they hear lyrics such as these from beyonce and her backup singers, they are so emotionally (and sometimes financially) bankrupt that they cannot embrace these lyrics as the truest form of love...

and of course...the libra in me can acknowledge the flipside of the situation...the actions in this song smack of servitude...

but...what's so wrong with serving the man you love? isn't that a part of the submitting that you are supposed to do as a good wife?

keep in mind here that if you are loving and serving the right kind of man that he is loving and serving you too...maybe not in that exact same way...

but when my man gets up before daybreak to go out and earn a living to bring his paycheck home to momma..appreciates the good loving i give him and the good meals that i prepare...when he makes me feel safe and secure...when he prays for me...when he comes up behind me and takes me in his arms and whispers words of sweet love...when he comes home every night...when he's d*cking me down, making my toes curl and he's calling MY name...when i don't ever have to worry about the other woman OR the other man...when i know that at the end of a day...he's got my back like i've got his and that together there is no challenge in life that we can't overcome...

hell yeah...i'm gonna love him with every fiber of my being...

just call me clarissa the caterer...