1.187 – Evils Voice

He berated her; calling her names for all the world to hear, mocking her in the presence of strangers. She didn’t say a word. She avoided all eye contact and just held the money in her hands while the cashier waited for some form of tender. The cart was full and she didn’t have enough money. And he humiliated her for it. He took out all of the things she had wanted and asked them to be removed from the final bill. He insulted her with each item he removed from the cart.

The transaction was over. And he continued. Vocalizing her inability to get a job. Blaming her for the job he was forced to take to provide for the household. He told her just how dumb she really was. Every time he walked by her, he leaned into her ear and mocked her a little bit more.

Their son sat five feet away.

This is not my story. This is the story of an unheard voice. One that has not had the courage to say “no more,” to the abuse. Purposefully demeaning someone for the sheer gratification of establishing control is sickening, repulsive, and pure evil.

I hope that girl finds her voice. I hope that man loses his. I hope that child learns that his father is an example of what NOT to be.

We have all heard the voice of evil. We have all been the voice of evil. If not our children, what is worth making the change?

I hope that woman figures it out. I know I have.


1.176 – The Average Life

It feels like forever since I’ve sat down and written a word. But life has a way of getting in the way. So here’s the rundown of this girls life in bullet points…since I’m too lazy to do paragraphs. Apparently, those take more effort than I’m willing to put in right about now.

  • My new job is a lot of physical work so I’m still trying to get used to that.
  • I just had a meeting today with some very important people who are doing an investigation concerning money that has gone missing. Needless to say, I’m not a thief and I’ve made that very clear. I don’t think they feel like I am a threat so I’m feeling less worried than I was before the meeting.
  • I only got about 20K in words for my June CampNaNoWriMo novel. Yeah, life got in the way. I will probably attempt another novel in August. We shall see.
  • Being able to pay my bills and fill my kitchen with enough food to last two weeks is an amazing feeling.
  • Having a falling out with family members is not something new to me. But this time around, I’ve had a new reaction. I can sit here and sulk and wonder why the hell things like this happen. But I’m not going to. I know who loves me and I know who cares and I know that at the end of the day, it’s not about how much family I’ve got but how I’m going to be family to my son. Staying focused and letting go of excess baggage.
  • In the same notion, I have also realized that people can smile to your face and chirp about how they want to be friends but if they never make the effort to reach out – they aren’t friends. Period. I don’t have the time, desire, or energy to chase bonds that were not meant to be. So I say goodbye and keep it moving. Not my loss.
  • I’ve been having odd dreams lately. Had a whole love story with some guy named Max. I don’t know a Max. Never have. Had a dream I bought 22 gallons of whole milk and had a meltdown trying to figure out how to fit it all into my refrigerator before it spoiled. Just odd.
  • My son is still freaking awesome!
  • Realized I have to work on my book review blog because I haven’t touched it in quite some time despite the fact that I am putting forth a huge effort to read every day. It’s on my to-do list.

So yeah, that’s life right now. It’s not that interesting…but it’s mine.

1.171 – Nicki VS Flex – Epic Fail

So, I’ve been listening to The Funk Master Flex show on HOT97 online. And this shit is seriously giving me a headache. So I don’t lose you, I’m going to break this down into three parts –

  1. The Back Story
  2. My Background
  3. My Opinion.

The following contains strong language, reader discretion is advised.


Summer Jam is the annual hip-hop fest held in East Rutherford, New Jersey and sponsored by New York based radio station Hot 97FM.” There were a whole list of people who were scheduled to perform and they probably did perform. But no one really gives a fuck. Apparently, DJ Peter Rosenberg made the comment:

“I know there’s some chicks here waiting to sing ‘Starships’ later, I’m not talking to y’all right now. F— that b–h–. I’m here to talk about real hip-hop s–”.

Based on that comment, Lil Wayne made the call, which he posted on his Twitter “Young Money ain’t doing summer jam.” What followed was a complete pull out by the Young Money crew, including the headliner for Summer Jam: Nicki Minaj. From that pull out has come a complete ejaculation of stupidity. Period.


I’m going to quote someone who is no longer apart of my family. I am the “whitest Puerto Rican ever.” I can probably name more indie, alternative, industrial, rock, new wave artists than I can name rap/hip hop artists combined. Apparently, race and how hard you are tends to be measured by how you dress and the music you listen to. That being said, I’m not going to claim unlimited knowledge on the hip-hop game and the beefs and the trends and what’s hot and what’s old news. I don’t know the language, the style, the swag and I quite frankly don’t feel like I’m missing a damned thing. I appreciate music. Sometimes, I want to hear angry music and sometimes I want to thrash my hair to some pop shit while I apply my lip gloss before a ladies night out. My race doesn’t define what I listen to and what I listen to doesn’t define my race. The same can be said for my anatomy. I listen to some music that would make some boys cry like a bitch. Music is art and art just is. I believe that. From the stuff I don’t care for to my favorite life changing tunes. Art is art.


This interview and the entire situation is a fucking joke. It’s well over thirty minutes of Nicki Minaj and Funk Master Flex yelling over each other. I don’t know how many times Minaj says “Respect,” and how many times Flex asks questions that run this shit in circles. I want to be very clear that I have always liked Flex and I do appreciate some of Nicki’s music.  She’s the black Lady Gaga. Lets be real. She’s selling records by giving people a show. Her whole game is acting. I’m not saying she can’t rap. I’m not one to judge who’s good at the game. But she’s catchy. She knows how to sell the image and that crazy Roman thing she does with her voice and then flips to the high pitched Barbie Doll thing that drives me fucking nuts. This is not about whether I think she has skills or not. Tonight, she made a few comments that were just really fucking stupid.

  1. “This is about RESPECT.” She even goes so far as to quote Aretha Franklin. “R.E.S.P.E.C.T. find out what it means to me.” Clearly, by you listing how much all of your records have made – respect means money. And that is a sad fucking existence. Only in the rap/hip-hop world do you hear people talking about their wallets. These people find validation in their lives by how much money they make. I don’t call that respect worthy at all. Being a millionaire doesn’t make me have an inkling of  respect for you. Feed the poor. Send some underprivileged kids to college. Donate money to find a cure for kids dying of Cancer, Alpers Disease, Glioblastoma Multiforme, Creutzfeldt-Jakob Syndrome, Zellweger Syndrome. Do more with your money and influence than bragging about getting wasted on your Twitter account “200 deep.”
  2. Lets make it a race thing. Nicki replies to one of her followers:“Not blak but on blak radio dissin blak women > RT @***_***** Radio personality with NO personality… fuck nigga!!! & u ain’t even black… I find it hysterical how people demand respect and then fling out racial slurs, which are condoned because black people can say that word. Does it matter if the guy that said that stuff is on “black radio” and he’s not black? Do these people even know what the fuck they are saying? Look up the word. And when the fuck did being black get you a get out of jail free card from being called out for anything BECAUSE you’re black. Listen to the music you support, the movies you watch, the media you allow to thrive…the most hate/dissing/beefs/catty moronic arguments  for your race comes from within your race. Misguided and uneducated as it may be…referring to women as bitches and hoes and anything with a dick as a “nigga” or “nigger” is not exactly spreading the fucking love here people. Asinine. Just asinine. Why not use your influence to stop allowing things to be held under the barriers of gender, race, and orientation. Why not use that fucking power to teach people a new vocabulary. Or to show your talent without falling back on the sex/race cards.
  3. Flex asked Nicki if she was “scared,” of Summer Jam to which she responded with a long egotistical tirade of how she has performed all over the world. Dear Nicki: the people who wanted to see you in NYC don’t give a flying fuck if you’ve performed in the biggest, baddest fucking stadiums and arenas around the world. They care that you took the time to perform for them and treated them with the dignity and RESPECT they deserve. To be treated like a worthy audience.
  4. Nicki is non-stop on the “I am woman, hear me roar” thing. But lets be honest. Just for a second. You can say you’re a boss. You can say that you are all about the woman. At the end of the day, you let a mans words stop your art. You let a man dictate what you did because of the RESPECT you have for him. Your fans, the ones that put that money you respect so much into your wallet, are the ones you should respect to the highest degree.
  5. And lastly, oh Nicki, you made the mistake of bringing up the gays. Lil Wayne taught you something about self-worth and somehow that equates to spreading the message of when to say “enough is enough” to women everywhere. To the gays. Refusing to go on a stage because a DJ dissed you DOES NOT in ANY WAY give women and the gays hope. No gay man or woman suddenly felt empowered because you didn’t get on stage to make some sort of half-ass point. No woman being beaten by her husband, being paid less than her male counterparts, being sexually harassed, suddenly said “oh shit, Nicki walked? I’m not taking this shit.” Reality check, please. You didn’t change lives by not performing at Summer Jam. I’m just saying.

A boss, a woman of artistic integrity, passion, and conviction would have gotten on that stage and blown some shit up. Before this interview, I was seriously thinking…”there is no way an artist should have to perform their art with such mockery.” Well, I’ve changed my mind. Was the decision right? I don’t know. I frankly don’t care, either way. The explanation, however, was a smelly, horribly boring crock of shit.

1.165 – My Bookstore…My Time Capsule

Today is a bittersweet day.

Two weeks ago, I was thrilled to put in my notice as the Cafe Lead of my local bookstore. I have the opportunity to work for another company that can financially help me in my current situation. It’s a smart financial move.

I was happy to say goodbye to a lot of things. To try to bring some level of a clean slate to my life.

But…something happened.

I walked through the parking lot…my final walk…and cried. Just as I am crying now. Why? Yes, I’m going to miss people. Yes, I’m scared a lot of my “friendships” will end because I don’t work there anymore. Yes, I’m going to miss my customers. Yes, I’m going to miss being the girl that pretty much knows how to do everything. Yes, I’m nervous these newbies will screw up the amazing bonds I have built with my favorite and loyal customers…and I won’t be able to answer a question or fix a problem or find that damned book that no one else can find. Yes, I have the opportunity to pick up a couple of shifts if I’d like to make extra money…so I’m not even fully gone.

But that’s not why this change makes me cry so much.

In that building, I have faced the struggles of not being able to get pregnant. In that building, I shared the excitement of finding out I was going to have a baby. In that building, I have faced the struggles of a failing marriage and upcoming divorce. In that building, I learned that my best friend died. In that building, I learned that my father died.

I can’t count the number of times someone in that store has sat with me and comforted me through tears. No, my four years weren’t perfect and I’ve had plenty of moments when I’ve wanted to bludgeon people with sticks. But these people have seen my life change in ways I was never prepared for.

This building holds the moments that replay in my mind, break my heart, elate me, and ground me. This place is a capsule in time of my greatest gift and my greatest losses.

My daddy introduced me to that bookstore…not that particular one but the chain itself. It’s sentimental for me. It always will be. I lost him in that bookstore.

And this shit is rocking my world way more than I thought it ever would. Bringing up feelings I didn’t think were connected.

I cry. Because apart of me feels like I’m leaving that place behind…like I’m leaving that moment there. I’m leaving him there.

And I relive the pain.

1.132 – Turmoil

The art slips away from me…a mind boggled with an abundance of questions. Stories and ideas sit on the back burner when, in all actuality, they should be at the forefront. Reflecting on life is a reminder of a failed one…what could not be saved is what leads me to this tailspin of uncertainty.

Don’t let anyone fool you; divorce takes two people. I swallow the pill in knowing that I wasn’t my best to make my marriage work…I wasn’t strong enough to encourage it to evolve instead of perish. And in the aftermath of realizing that…I sit here as a broken woman. I am broken because I was apart of something that could not last, could not beat the odds. I am broken because I am faced with making even more difficult decisions. I am broken because I could not guarantee my son a unified front.

My spirit is ready to make the move, to return to my birthplace, to start my life anew, to create a life I want to live. My mind is fogged with the concern for others, for the connections that may suffer if things don’t go as planned, for the worry that I am…yet again…not making the right decision. My heart breaks because, as much as I want to be fair…I can’t imagine being apart from my son for a day…a single day…that far apart.

This whole scenario makes me want to break things and spit and curse and banish all smiling faces. If I was a man and I was offered a job far away…the move would make sense. It would seem justified. I’m doing what needs to be done to provide. But I’m a woman. I’m a mother. I can’t give my child up…even for three month periods. What kind of person am I?

Is the opportunity to make more money and be closer to a family source a justified reason to sacrifice six months of the year with my child? Shouldn’t I be able to find a way to be happy and accomplished exactly where I am? What does it say about me if I can’t? Do I stay where I am for the sake of my son if it means I am not happy as an individual?

I’m crushed. Because I feel like there is no middle ground. I’m either selfish or settling to remain as I am. This person I despise. So many would say that my child should be enough. Is there something wrong with me if I want…more? And I feel like the biggest piece of shit on the face of the earth for writing that last sentence. But I want to be more so I can give more. Even still…it feels wrong to feel.

I don’t think I’m strong enough to make this decision. But by not making a decision…haven’t I already decided? I am broken and it is taking all of the fight left in me to not curl up in a ball and hope for the moment when I whither away. In this case, there is no good decision. And I don’t know if I can live with that.

1.118 – Searching For Something

The only thing standing between you and your goal is the bullshit story you keep telling yourself as to why you can’t achieve it – kushandwisdom.tumblr

Someone posted this today on Facebook and it caught my attention, with good reason. Self reflection is a bitch. A bitch I don’t like but one that is continuously all up in my face.

The other day, I had an allergic reaction to food I should not have eaten. It wasn’t that serious – easily fixed with three shots. It was actually quite embarrassing. No one wants to be THAT person in the middle of the scene. Jesus H. Christ, just give me a pill and Ill be fine…and stop poking me with shit. No, I don’t want to pay far too much money for a two minute ambulance ride. It all seems very silly – people have heart attacks. People have seizures. My throat burned and tightened up and I had trouble breathing. A couple of hours later and I’m doped up, passed out on my couch.

All I could think about was my son. I’m not supposed to go out like this. I’m not suppose to stop breathing because of a piece of fruit. My son is at daycare and expects my ass to be there, bright and vibrant at 5:30. But the fact of the matter is…if something did happen to me…something triggered by bad footing, eating the wrong thing…a life changing moment unforeseen by anyone…life will go on. With or without me.

I can tell myself that I have all the time in the world to get my shit together. To reach my goals. To pull my head out of my ass and face the demon that is my self deprecating low self-esteem…but I don’t. I might only have today. I might only have this hour. I might only have this minute.

Will I teach my son…will my legacy be that I was a quitter? That his light wasn’t bright enough to push me through the dark hours? Fuck that noise.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what my career is supposed to be. I don’t know if I’m ever supposed to be an accomplished writer. I don’t know if I’m supposed to ever be in love again. I don’t know why I’ve beat the odds as many times as I have. I don’t know why I let my fears get the best of me.

I may never know that magic of love with another adult. I may never get beyond working at the level I’m at. I may never be on a bookshelf. Those are all maybes. But what is certain is that I’m going to die someday. SOME DAY. But I’m breathing today. I have a voice today. I have feelings today. I have thoughts today. I have love for this life in my heart today. I can teach my son something today.

I’m not dead yet. So I need to stop acting like it.

I laid in that ER room and scrolled through my phone, searching for someone to come and get me. “Do you have a ride,” the nurse asked a million times. And I was ashamed. Because I didn’t. Because if something had happened to me…who the hell would they call? Who would answer the phone? Yeah, I’ve got friends. Yeah, I’ve got family. But who would…who could drop it all for me? Staring at my phone…scrolling aimlessly…that was hard. Realizing I havent made that deep of an impression…

But hell if someone didn’t help me out. And I’m grateful. I may not have any ONE person who would drop the world for me. But I have ONE that I would drop the world for. And if that meant walking to my car, drugged up and all, I would have.

I’m not dead yet. So I need to stop acting like it.

I’ve still got time to make that impression. To be the light to others that my son is to me. I don’t know how. But…I want to figure it out. That, alone, is a step toward something.

Something more meaningful. Something connected. Something magical. Something worthwhile. Something better.

1.104 – Open Doors

A friend of mine recently offered to hook me up for my birthday by recommending a place in the city for me to celebrate. If you knew this guy, you would know that he is probably one of the most genuine, giving people you could ever meet. I’m sure a lot of girls just look at him for his success – dollar signs floating through the air. But it is his caring nature that reminds me why we’ve remained friends for over a decade.

Being the girl that I am, I declined. I searched my brain for every excuse I could think of. I don’t have anything to wear to the places this guy goes to, I don’t have that type of money, I would stick out like a sore thumb. But in all actuality, I knew why I declined. Because I wouldn’t want him to be embarrassed to bring me somewhere he is a regular to and I obviously don’t fit the part.

I said the places he regulars are out of my league. He responded with:

“Don’t say out of your league then you buy into the bull crap.
All of these places should be glad you choose to set foot in them.
That’s the way to look at them.”

After some thought…I figure he’s right. Anything is attainable. An experience, a life, a love, a dream. Now, before I sound all hokey, I’m going to end this post. With gratitude. For someone speaking so clearly.

Thanks B.

1.103 – A Year In The Wallet

Here is a math lesson:

A parent makes 25,240 a year. (We’re not even going into taxes…so this number is already cushioned).

So, our starting point is 25,240.

But we have to pay rent for the year. Minus 8,220 for a two bedroom apartment.

Now we’re at 17,020 for the year.

Deduct 1,500 a year for Cable and Internet. This is probably a luxury to many people. Seeing as I use the internet for my writing and to stay connected to my family back home – I don’t regret it. The cable…yeah, we could probably do without that – I’ll be honest. 

Now we’re looking at 15,520 for the year.

1,500 a year on Gas Utilities (that’s averaging for the entire year).

14,020 is our dwindling number.

Electric is a much kinder bill at 720 a year.

We’re at 13,300.

Renters insurance drops us down 180 bucks to 13120.

Childcare is a big one, taking us from 13,120 down to 9,520.

Gas for the car for the year – we’re guestimating here – is about 1,500.

Now we’re at 8,020.

Groceries/diapers…if you shop off brands and only buy what you need when you need it – 2,080 for the year.

We’re down to 5,940.

But we are still trying to pay off medical/school debts which is about 1,200 a year.

So that leaves us at 4,740.

Now, divided by 52 weeks…that’s about 91 dollars in pocket every week.

91 dollars covers emergencies, car issues, birthday celebrations, holidays, clothes, medicine, and anything else that just so happens to be needed in any given week.

Take into account that the starting amount INCLUDES child support (which we are very grateful for) and all expenses DO NOT include taxes (which we pay), car insurance and cell phone.

It’s a tight number. Very. And some days, I’m not sure if I can make it. Some days, I’m looking at my house wondering what exactly I can sell off to make sure we don’t hit a speed bump.

Why am I sharing this with you?

Today, I took my son to buy his birthday presents. I decided to stick with clothes because he needs them and because he did the toy thing just a few weeks ago for Christmas. In taking him shopping, I stopped into a local clothing store that most would define as “cheap.” Inexpensive, trendy clothes. I looked around, thinking how cute a top was and how adorable those jeans were and damn…they were only 18 bucks. I could afford that.

And then I thought about my 91 dollars for the week. I thought about my sons birthday. One pair of jeans for me is two shirts for him. One pair of shoes for me is an entire outfit for him. One entire outfit for me is a weeks worth of food for him. And so, I left the store, empty handed. I took my son to a clothing store and picked out several items to celebrate his big day.

I wish I could do more. But I’m doing what I can. I admit, sometimes I slip. I spend too much on take-out. I buy cigarettes when I know it’s just money leaking from my pocket. I buy books when I should be at the library. I put luxury in the place of necessity. I always regret it.

I’m sharing this because it’s hard. But – it is possible. I’m sharing this because I doubt myself so much on whether I’m going to make it and yet I have, for the past 10 months. I’m sharing this because I have a list of IOU’s to those people who have helped me, from a place of pure kindness. I’m sharing this because it is only through the daily support of those who love my son and I that we survive. I’m sharing this because without my son – these numbers would make me wave the white flag. I’m sharing this…for me. Because, no matter how hard it gets, no matter how much I panic, no matter how it feels like it’s all going to crumble at the drop of a hat…I’m still okay. We’re still okay.

With 91 bucks to our name.

1.100 – One Hundred Kisses

Following my muse has worked out pretty well so far. I can’t see any reason to change the formula now.
Chris Van Allsburg
I have always believed that good conversation was a chess game, good sex was like a dance and everything in this life is a muse. To kiss the muse is to embrace the good, the bad, and the ugly as divine inspiration. To celebrate 100 posts, I happily share with you a list created from the contributions of a very diverse group of people. 100 faces, 100 souls, 100 lives worth living. 100 reasons, 100 muses, 100 kisses. You will never decipher which is the single mom, the accomplished writer, the veteran, the big wig, the straight, the gay, the poor, the rich, the lone wolves. The muse touches all walks of life, with a delicate brush of pure lips to the heart – setting ideas and thoughts aflame. Seedlings growing from nothing into that which forces our world to move.
…There was a hiccup. Only 18 of the almost 125 people I messaged for input responded. I could be discouraged and say…I can’t complete the 100 kisses without help…but it’s the new year and a new mentality – nothing is going to stop me.
Without further ado, 100 kisses.
From me to you.
  1. The first time
  2. A beautiful woman
  3. Volunteering and selfless donations
  4. Music inspires me to be present in a community of sounds all speaking a piece of a whole truth.
  5. Learning from my past and not repeating the same mistakes and always trying my best in any situation.
  6. The fact that I’m a sinner, but was saved by grace. I’m constantly humbled by that fact.
  7. The strength i did not know i had. the struggles have taught me to survive when i didnt think i could and have pushed me to do better for myself. my strength allows me to be strong for myself and for others.
  8. My biggest inspiration and motivator is a fear of death. That once I’m gone nothing will be left of me but my words/ thoughts.
  9. The desire to take that idea in my head that I know will entertain.. and to give birth to it on the page. It’s as natural a desire, to me, as food or sex.
  10. Fear of being a failure. making sure i leave a legacy behind
  11. The only thing that inspires me to do better is my boys. If I couldn’t have a baby I think I would have fallen off the wagon.
  12. I’m inspired by two things, the only things I feel we need: Friends and Family
  13. Life inspires me. There is so much to learn, to experience, to see, to live, and so little time.
  14. the fear of failure, and the possibility of failure. That i wont achieve what i know i can and i will come up short of the person i want to be. I fear failure and what i will never have if i dont achieve.
  15. A warm summer day in the back yard. Drinking a can of Dr. Pepper and thinking about the projects I plan to tackle today.
  16. Someone who is so passionate about what they believe that they will die for it, understands why they believe it, and lives like they are on fire for it. That’s the kind of person I want to be.
  17. The way music can connect people in a way that words and emotions can’t. Ethereal chords that echo through one’s soul filling it with immense peace. Harmonies shared between people that say, “Your heart understands mine.”
  18. When I go to the park and swing I imagine my whole life ok stable an free
  19. Laying on someones chest while they hold me, while listening to their heartbeat. For some reason hearing that makes me forget the bad, at least for that moment. Makes me appreciate the little things more.
  20. Sex
  21. Power
  22. Fame
  23. Money
  24. Italy
  25. Fine Cuisine
  26. Down Home Cooking
  27. Bare feet
  28. A cool spring evening
  29. A rainy afternoon
  30. A snowy day, curled in a blanket
  31. The moon
  32. The sun
  33. The stars
  34. Books
  35. Writers
  36. Painters
  37. Dancers
  38. Musicians
  39. Actors/Actresses
  40. Cinema
  41. Theatre
  42. Falling in love
  43. Breaking up
  44. Tears
  45. Broken glass
  46. Thunder
  47. Lightening
  48. A crack in the pavement
  49. History
  50. Pain
  51. Tragedy
  52. Butterflies
  53. The ocean
  54. The mountains
  55. A field of flowers
  56. Rainbows
  57. Animals
  58. Children
  59. Fire
  60. Life itself
  61. Death…in its entirety
  62. Sunrises
  63. Sunsets
  64. Philosophy
  65. Theology
  66. Silence
  67. A blank journal
  68. Beating drums
  69. Culture
  70. Spirituality
  71. Sexuality
  72. Tomorrow
  73. Laughter
  74. Sunflowers
  75. The number 13
  76. A scream
  77. Crayola Crayons
  78. Yesterday
  79. Bright lights
  80. Sirens
  81. Crashing waves
  82. Crumpled paper
  83. Clean white sheets
  84. The scent of a loved one on an old shirt
  85. A bodily scar
  86. An emotional one
  87. Rose petals
  88. Fireflies
  89. Memories
  90. Waterfalls
  91. A wrapped present
  92. An empty box
  93. Liquid courage
  94. Temptation
  95. A deep sigh
  96. Words unspoken
  97. Dreams
  98. A smile
  99. A frown
  100. The last time…

Cover me in kisses, cover me in inspiration 

one and the same. Here’s to 100 more. 


1.99 – Do You Have FAFS?

FAFS, also known as Fake Ass Friend Syndrome, is a debilitating condition, which can wreak havoc in every aspect of your life. However, this condition is treatable. In order to solve your problem, you must first identify your symptoms.

You have Fake Ass Friend Syndrome if:

  • You always says “I’m going to call you back,” and never do because you’re watching television, playing online games, filing your nails, watching Youtube videos, updating your Facebook status.
  • You drop off the face of the earth when your friend has a major illness, new birth, death in the family, major accomplishment.
  • You repeatedly schedule times to schedule a time to meet up with your friend but never successfully schedule a scheduled time.
  • You don’t show up to a friends baby shower/birthday/major event but post updates from a bar via Facebook or Twitter.
  • You apologize for your lack of friendship – only to repeat your asshole behavior.
  • You use other friends as an excuse as to why you’re a bad friend.
  • You bring up the length of time you’ve known  a person when confronted with your FAFS symptoms.
  • You only call your friends when you need money.
  • You only call your friends when things are bad.
  • You ask strangers “will you be my friend?”
  • You show new friends your bank statements.
  • You distance yourself from your friend when you’re around a potentially cooler crowd.
  • You continuously degrade one mutual ex-friend so you never look as bad.
  • You consider the friendship over every single time your friend doesn’t agree with you.
  • You refer to your friend as your fat friend, the skinny bitch, the dark one, the pasty chick.
  • You put forth zero effort but expect to be BFF’s.

If you or someone you know is suffering from FAFS, please get help. If it’s you – lock yourself in a room and throw away the key. Don’t ever come out – because you suck balls. Big hairy, saggy balls. This will help everyone you’ve annoyed. You cant be annoying if you’re out of sight – out of mind.  If it’s a friend – run! RUN FOR THE HILLS. You might think this is abandonment. It’s not. Those who suffer from FAFS must hit rock bottom in order to realize just how crappy they are acting. The only way to really do that is to sit in a room and have that moment when they realize…I’m alone.

FAFS sucks. Period.