Filed under: The Art of Storytellin'
After what turned out to be a day from Hades, I was looking forward to hitting the crib, soaking my limbs and sliding into my silkiest panties and softest robe. I was in dire need of gracing the remainder of my day away. I ditched the office at 5:00 hoping to bypass the Lenox Rd. traffic but no such luck. I took advantage of the time to make client calls and homie hollas. Yea, I know I shouldn’t shoot and swerve but hey, gotta make the most of the time you got! Guess I shouldn’t openly admit that I send entire emails with both hands while driving with me knee, huh. Gotta stop that…
I ended up talking to Elaina the entire time, listening to the never ending saga with the on-again off again dog she called her ‘man’. He wasn’t just a dog, he was the nasty kind – slinging his penis everywhere from Brazil to McDonald’s. I can’t stand him personally but still try not to be one of those hatin’ ass single friends forever poppin shit with a cold bed of my own. But damn…stupid – is – stupid. We’ll address Elaina’s addiction to ‘industry’ cats later, as that is another SEVERE ailment of my kind in this city. Nevertheless, I put my girlfriend time in and listened to her cry, offered some friendly objective advice and said my goodbyes.
By that time I had made it to home base and was oh so happy to be there. As I prepared dinner, Stouffers’ a la microwave, I sauntered around my haven picking up loose ends from a morning turned awry. Woke up late, had to rush, and didn’t lay out my stuff the night before. My mind always changes between the time I pick my outfit to the time I wake up to start my day so I just gangster my shit. Whatever I feel like when I get to that point ya’ meen? Got a text from Ty, one of my bestest guy friends and funny as shit, asking me where he could find free Wi Fi. Me being the queen of finding anything for a bargain and everything free I immediately typed P-A-N-E-R-A B-R-E-A-D on Peachtree. That message was followed by the funny, weird and psychotic two liners we shoot back and forth – that anyone reading in passing would clearly see us as sick idiots. Lol. Perhaps that’s true but who cares.
Dinner was done, bath had been run and the world outside had said goodbye to the sun. That’s when it happened. POWER. OUT. The abrupt halt to the energy source in my crib was followed my own wails, “Are You SERIOUS?!! I just paid my %$@#^& bill!”
Very aware of my ability to go from zero to raging bitch in 5 seconds, I re-focused my energy and grabbed my phone to dial Georgia Power. 1 hour and 30 minutes before I’d have power again. I spewed more atrocities and words that my momma would smack me for while fumbling around the dark for panties and a t-shirt. Went ahead and copped some sweats and socks too…it was getting cold for real. I sat on the couch pondering whether or not to wait this out or just go somewhere to chill out until power was restored. Like Starbucks…that’s a bet. As observed the ATL skyline from my point of view I thought, “Man something’s different.” They call it silence. Almost eerie silence…crazy. “I’m getting the hell outta here,” I said racing for my sneakers.
But before I could get the other shoe on my phone rang and supposedly my power was back. I said, “No, I’m still standing in the dark,” dangling my other sneaker from my index finger.
“Yea you gotta go reset your box,” he explained.
“What box?”
“There should be a box somewhere outside of your home. Gotta go flip it on, that’s not our job,” he said with country swang. Obviously an Anglo Saxon who’s descendents probably owned some of my own at some point. His town wasn’t right.
“Dude, I live in a condo,” I frowned. Poked my lips out in disgust.
“You gotta maintnence man?” I laughed to myself and wanted to say well yea kinda, but HE’s not doing his f**** job, but opted for, “No these are privately owned.”
“Well you should know where your fuse box is ma’m. This was just a courtesy call.” CLICK! That sucker hung up on me!
I’d just closed on this place in November! I’d barely figured out how to arrange my shoe collection let alone find a sttuuuupidd fuse box, lol. Rather than allow the angry sharks to swim, I decided to focus on the problem at hand, which was figuring out how the hell to get my lights on and warm my loins. I tossed on my robe and headed off on my quest to find the holy grail of power…in the freezing dark…with no flash light…and definitely NO clue. Did I mention that my building is maybe a half a mile long with four floors of units and mine faces the back woods!? Uh yea…this was gonna be some shit. To Be Continued… black girl.
Filed under: Reflections of a Black Girl
{MOB NYC!}
Shall we begin?
So. This is my first post and I’ve been struggling with where to start! The boring, put you the hell to sleep way would be to give you an intro on where I came from and what color my eyes were when I was born…blah. Honestly who gives a f$(@&? I’ll just start somewhere in the middle and get it going from there. Tidbits about me will serve as tasty treats to the dedicated readers that tune in daily to see the deal dilly.
Why Black Girl In the City?
Well…the term is what it is. I felt like a lot of women in Atlanta and other major cities could relate to the topics I’ll address and the often crazy ass stories I’ll tell. I woke up one night to an episode of ‘Sex In The City’…the one where Miranda had Chlamydia, lol. The first thing I thought was, “Man, that shit is SO real! Gross but real!” I think one of the reasons why the show has done so well, ultimately giving birth to a feature film, is because it told the absolute truth and addressed issues that everyday women experience. The fabulous, the freaky and the fuggggged up! Although I could relate to a lot of what the show had to offer, I tried to think of similar shows told from a black woman’s perspective with the same groundbreaking effect. Girlfriends, nah. I don’t think the show was real enough in a lot of ways. Living Single, nah. Still too scripted and really didn’t get to the heart of issues that I and my own city girlfriends experience on an everyday basis. People are starving for the truth in a world of smokescreens and mirrors, might as well be me to give it to you just the way I see it. And there it is.
One thing you can count on…
Is the absolute truth! So much so that I’ve chosen to remain anonymous with this blog. I have also chosen not to have my house set on fire, get my ass kicked, or have my life ultimately ruined because I wrote about something or someone here, lmao. Funny things happen when people run head on into truth. Like showing a cat its reflection, anything is bound to happen. Remaining ghost also gives me the opportunity to say WTF I want to say, that I honestly wouldn’t say in fear of retaliation, hurting someone’s feelings or embarrassing someone. Professional reasons could be thrown in there somewhere as well. I’m not exactly famous, like everybody in Atlanta lol, but I’m not exactly unknown either. Bottom line, I think about a lot of shit and rarely tell anyone other than myself. Schizophrenic bitch!? Call it as you please. That said, you count on good storytelling in first person while satisfying your sick voyeuristic craving to watch the life of another unfold in live unscripted color. I promise to keep you entertained.
Seriously.
This is not for the easily offended or non-life having sucker waiting to find something worth bitching about. It’s my blog and I’ll be the only one doing the bitching, with the exception of some of my homie girls that have their own soliloquy’s to share. Funky ass comments will not be approved, and if you have something to say take it to the head and email me directly: blackgirlinthecity@gmail.com – If your rant is grimy enough I’ll probably post it. No haters here but everyone’s entitled to what they think, whether I agree with what you say or not.
Send me shit. If you’re a female (regardless of race or city) and would like to share sumthin, send it on sister! Pictures are always cool too. If it’s something extra dirty please don’t mention names and details and all that other stuff as I am not trying to be held liable for someone else’s drama. I’d rather spend my weekday playing hookie and browsing boutiques, NOT sitting in a courtroom sweating bullets because of your dumb shit. Just keep it simple and tell the story, not the person. This is not ‘don’t date him girl.com’ or ‘fuck that bitch I work with.net’. It would help if you were a decent writer too. I have so much going on in my life that I really don’t have time to revise and edit anybody’s shit.
Enjoy!
Filed under: Shes such a BITCH!!!
Atlanta, Georgia aka the dirty dirty is known as the city of dreams and opportunity for those of African-American descent, especially women. It can also be known as the land of puffed promises and rubber checks depending on how you look at it. Being a part of the majority in this city has its ups and downs. This blog follows one black woman on her journey to self in every sense of the word. Success as she sees it, love and life, family, her dreams and of course…sex – all of these things sprinkled with F**** ups, triumphs, and sometimes just plain on stupid s*** pretty much sums it up.
If you’re easily offended by the truth in pure and raw form, put your internet savvy to good use and click the ‘back’ button. This blog isn’t for everyone. The thoughts and expressions told here do not represent black women collectively, nor do they speak on behalf of women in general. Although the situations are un-manipulated and REAL, all names and/or attributes have been changed for the sake of confidentiality and privacy. Got something to say? blackgirlinthecity@gmail.com and keep it funky.
Black Girl In The City. 
