I don't want any yes-men around me. I want everyone to tell me the truth--even if it costs him his job.
Samuel Goldwyn

versus...

This paperback is very interesting, but I find it will never replace a hardcover book-- it makes a very poor doorstop.
Alfred Hitchcock

Well, the wait is officially over. My 3rd Gen 30GB iPod has arrived, and as soon as I enough testicular fortitude to open the contents of the box, you will be the first to enjoy the new experience with me; not that you really care anyways...
Holla back, from da kat unda da Kangol cap! I had one of those invisible, inaudible conversations with God over the weekend, who recommended me coming to and at you guys straight up; in essence, the powers prevented me from becoming that hate-filled alter ego I was back at War With The Mirror. And I, learning never to argue with the powers that be, have obliged. So, what do I have to do in this week's column? We talk about my week before and week ahead; respond to my iPod Addiction; Tavie wants me to respond to Michael Jackson's situation; new friends I've met; and oh yes, what happened that caused me to comprise Cursed?. Well then, let's start. And by the way, since this post was delayed, the events aren't exactly up to date. But you'll get there, momentarily:

Saturday. Work. I'm at my teller window, taking care of business as usual. SSF arrives (no, not the same one, but a different version: 5'8", long black hair, brown eyes, you know... perfect) at the bank. I was totally mesmerized by her, but the fact that I was at work seemed to return me to my senses. So, I fought to clear the line that was there so that she could be at my window. Without making it too obvious, I served my usual customers with a purpose, and all I can remember them saying was how fast and good I was...
Okay, three or four customers later, SSF comes to my window. Yes, you heard right. She was at my window; not at the teller window to my left, not at the window to my right; my window. I felt as though I won the game, or the joust. And my prize was the king's daughter for a date or something. With no time to prepare on how exactly I was going to approach her, or how I was going to do it without the whole bank knowing, I had just made a few quick observations on her movements, tone of voice, and overall attitude, and responded accordingly. We traded niceties, and the preliminaries were just about finished. This was it.
Game on.
Enter the GreenPoint-old-timer. The same blasted GreenPoint-old-timer who, for the lack of a better term, fucked my flow up with the first SSF on the bus. (Note to reader: if my language does get coarse, do forgive me.) This fucking bitch comes to my workspace, interrupts my conversation with the customer, not to mention fucks up my flow, again, and starts talking to SSF. The question she asks is something to the effect of:
"Excuse me. I know that this is rather unprofessional to be coming at you like this. But, I have a friend who works here, who really likes you. And I was just wondering, between us two, are you seeing anyone, or are you single? Or you are seeing someone? Okay, once again sorry about that, but I must say that he does think you are pretty. Okay, thanks..."
Game Over.
Game motherfucking over.
And it never even started.
The first time she fucked my flow, she hits the SSF with her umbrella, in an attempt to hit me with her umbrella, so she can get my attention, so I can turn around and buy her tea. I thought that, by far and large, was the most fucked up incident a single kat could go through. But that Saturday afternoon, that Saturday will go down in infamy. I couldn't believe the same bitch who fucked my flow the first time fucked it up again. This time, it was a blatant blow, in front of my face, so she could hook someone else up. My problem was not with the guy she tried to hook up, but with that bitch herself. She, to prevent me from saying fucked, screwed me twice!!
You know, when you win the joust game, after a long hard-fought duel, you go up to the King's daughter, and next thing you know, some rich snob snags her from your grasp; you know the feeling you get when something you worked hard to attain was taken away from you?? That is the feeling I had for the rest of the weekend. I mean, I had a total knockout at my counter, smiling at me, talking to me; something that doesn't happen everytime I walk out my apartment building. And that bitch, did that to me...
In ending this story, it goes pretty much downhill. I end up $10 over ("What did you do, cheat some old lady of her change," that old-time-bitch laughs), and as I steamed my anger my out loud on way to the bus, some Jamaican lady with her child comes up me and says I should stop talking to myself. That would also be the first time I ever told someone older than me to sod off. And if you wanna say pissed off, I think that would probably be the word I would use to describe myself for the rest of that Saturday. Whereas now, I have cooled off to the point I can reasonably discuss without swearing every other word, it was next to impossible for me that Saturday. And, it all falls back to that bitch. The same bitch who swears she knows everything, yet can't figure out why, with two daughters, she can't get a man. I am not hating her for that; I'm not disrespecting her for who she is, or her life story. I am disrespecting this bitch for what she has done; and the ignorance she carries for doing it. I know I am partially responsible for Saturday, being that I was at work. But 99.9% of the blame is going to that bitch. She doesn't even get the respect of me saying her name on my blog; she doesn't get the rank of being a GreenPoint old-timer for her nine or ten years of being there (and she is still fairly young.) She gets to be called the bitch, not out of hate, but out of disrespect; or, at least until I'm fully over what happened.
Which leads to Cursed. The series of events I've had in my love life lead me to believe that I've been cursed or something. By whom, or for what, or when, I do not know. But something is just amuck here, and, well, I don't know what to say. I'll say that it was bad timing, again. I'll say that circumstances did not allow me to win, again. I'll say, that it was just an illusion, and my guardian angel, the same one, brought me to reality. Again. I am not cursed, at least to my knowledge, and there is someone for me out there. Right? Right...

Dammit, I dislike feeling like I'm talking to myself.

In releasing my stress, we move on to the week ahead, Thanksgiving. This means turkey, more turkey, and enough leftovers for work to save me a week's worth of money. It also means being with family, loved ones, and those that treasure you the most. I don't know about those that treasure me, nor do I know of any loved ones that I'll have with me on Thursday, but I will have more family over. My other grandmother came from Florida yesterday, and will spend the week. Meanwhile, my uncles and aunts are preparing to stop by on Thursday as well, and it's gonna be fun time at da crib. Right!?
Please.
Again, I won't go into the details of why, but I'd rather have a peaceful thanksgiving with my parents (yes, my parents, not my parental-carbon-based-units) and brother. But, there are things you can't control. And things you just have to endure. At least I still have class until Wednesday, and I have to work on Friday and Saturday. Which means I won't be home longer than I have to...
It's a shame that it has to come to that.

The Michael Jackson scandal. Is this supposed to cover up the fact that the Presidential Administration is about to blow up some Middle-Eastern country or something? Is this supposed to cover some screw-job some idiot at Congress did? I mean, I have never seen the papers blow Jackson up so big since the first time he endured this back in '94, I think. For the entire week, I saw his ever-changing face, in almost every single newspaper. Okay, we throw in the JFK assassination issue, and a couple of brave NYC cops. But this week was all Wacko Jacko, and coincidentally, was around the same time his Number Ones album hit the stores.
You know, part of me wants to believe the hype. A part of me wants to say that Jackson hangs around kids too much, and yeah, it's possible that he messed up again. But after watching him for 21 years, after seeing him through all his previous struggles, after those recent documentaries/interviews, I know better. I know that this kat really cares about children. I know that he does what he can to support those who need their day brightened. I also know that kids are very easily influenced. I also know that people have a way of letting money have more precedent over ethics. This will not be the first time people have tried to milk a man for his money, nor is it the first time society puts a man down and berates him for not conforming to the norms. Then again, I do not have all the facts. So, I like everyone else will sit and watch. Watch to see how this one plays out. If in fact, this was another sham to milk Jackson out his millions, then I, like before, will shake my head in disgust. A man's love and undying concern for the world's future gets him in trouble. And another man who will bomb a country before ensuring quality education to his country's future... continues to run the country.
If something truly ain't amiss about that, then perhaps God should take me up now.

More later. Promise...