blah-goldie-blah

Hey all.

It's been a blast over here, but I need a bit more creative control... and I need all of my viewers to be able to comment (not just members).  So, I've moved.

I'm now at:

http://www.itsjustgoldie.com

It's a bit of a rough start, but I plan to get into the swing of things and update on a regular basis. Vox, you've been good to me, but it's time for use to go our separate ways.  I'll make it back over here to comment on my neighbors sites, cus ya'll still rock my socks.

Hope you visit.

Thanks,
Goldie.

When I asked if you were lying and you said you weren't (or any variation of the question, and any variation of the answer) and it turns out you -were- lying, how was I supposed to learn to trust you?

What a rocky, crumbly foundation we had...

:(
Sent from my Verizon Wireless BlackBerry

Speaking in stereotypes:

California, you must be a woman.

You sit and look pretty.

You shine with your sun.

You feed me with your produce.

You bear children with your population.

Then you feed those children with your produce and you shine.

Despite being overworked, over-tilled and overpopulated.

Speaking in stereotypes:

California, you must be a woman.

You give me options

 (Yes on Prop H8. No on Prop H8.)

And despite what we know is right, you do what’s wrong.

Despite what’s fair, you go the other way.

You fickle, moody woman.

Running on emotions.

California, you must be a woman.

And seeing as you are a woman, even if I wanted to….

I couldn’t marry you.

Even though I’ve been with you all of my life...

I couldn’t marry you.

California. Even though I love you with all of my heart and even though I will never leave...even though I will raise our children here and tell them not to leave either because no one will ever treat them as well…even though I tried by voting NO ON 8. 

I can’t marry you.

California. You keep breaking my heart.

If you're going to make an excuse (or excuses), prepare to defend whatever it is you have to say.

Prepare to have me punch holes in your intricate excuse web.

Or, prepare for me not to give a fuck.

Presently, I'm going with the latter.

Co-irker left work early Monday and was out all day yesterday.  She was sick.

I hadn't seen her since early this week.  This morning, we rode up in the elevator together.  I asked her how she was.  This wasn't small talk. This was quite the loaded question. As the words, "Are you feeling better?" rolled out of my grill, I was thinking:

Please tell me she just had a bad bout of the scoots

Please tell me she had the bubblyguts

Please tell me she was dehydrated

Or had a migraine

Or was playing sick

Whatever it was... don't let her exemplify any

MOTHER

EFFING

FLU

LIKE

SYMPTOMS

"Oh," she said through a stuffy nose, with a voice worn-down from 1.5 days of coughing, "I'm feeling better. But I can only take so many sick days."

So. As corporate is sending out emails about how to try to keep from getting sick with H1N1 (SWINE FLU!), they are making sure that they keep their money right by not allowing co-workers to have sick days cus they can't afford it.

Hey. United States Health System? And corporate office? In the time of a flipping PANDEMIC (that's world-wide, ya'll... so international) where governors are declaring states of emergency, we allow sick co-irkers to take an extra day or two?

It will lead to an abuse of time-off? Well, figure it out. Make 'em get a doctor's note. Make 'em give you blood. Something.

I hate sitting in the cest pool that is an office with re-circulated pig air. I literally grown under my breath each time one of the FIVE sick co-irkers coughs.

Really. A little sympathy in the time of a pandemic would be awesome.

Part of the joy of the internet is it allows me to find music without having to find music. Old news, right?

Check her out. Hopie Spitshard. She's from SF. She's not a woman doing hip hop. She's doing hip hop and she happens to be a woman.

LUV HER!

black summers' night

I love Maxwell.  I can't really put it into better words, but you know how you have that one artist that's just YOUR artist. He's that artist for me.

And then there was Pretty Wings:

And you know how you have that one song that is just YOUR song. This is that song for me.

Was at the hair shop a few weeks ago.  Some older jamz were being discussed. Can't remember who, exactly, they were talking about, but for the sake of me making a point, we'll say it was Donna Summer. They start singing Last Dance and I kinda sing along.

Hair dresser stops and says (the dreaded): "Whatchu know about that??"

I neverrrr know what to say when someone asks that question.  Do I pull out facts? Do I just shrug? Do I say, "Well, I know a few songs..."

The question comes up when there's a noticeable age difference.  And, like, it puts me on the spot.  When she said that, I just said, "Well... ya know."  And left it at that.

What doo you say when someone asks that?  Or, maybe you don't know what I'm talking about...  Lemme know.

To all the van haters out there (you know who you are!):

Respect

The

Van.

xo,

Van Lover Goldie.