A Little Something On My Life

Prepare to be underwhelmed.

Both my parents are from Jamaica. They came here at different times, but met because my mother's boyfriend was friends with my dad. Before this boyfriend went out of town, he asked my dad to show her around, keep an eye on her. Now if anybody knew anything about my dad back in the day, he was a ladies man. So you know how that story ended. I think the biggest question people ask is how people from Jamaica would pick such a cold place such as Chicago. According to my mother, it was because there was better opportunity here for jobs, and there were a lot of Jamaicans already here. My grandmother sponsored over 100 people from JA during her lifetime.

My mom being the ridiculously independant person that she is, decided at the age of 28 that she wanted a baby. Screw the husband/marrige deal. She wanted to be a mother. There were traits in my father that she liked. His cool-headedness tempered her "I'll-talk-about-your-dead-grandmother" type communication style. Fast forward two years: my dad's constant hounding to get married finally wears mom down. They get married, I'm the flower girl. Very cute.

My papa as limbo stud. He's so cool, he called his own mother "babe".	My mom when she first came to the country. She was a little under 100lbs. when she got here. "All teeth, hair, and ATTITUDE", as my father would say.

Fast forwarding again, I survive 13 years of Chicago Irish Catholic education, go to St. Louis for four years to get my degree in Management so that I can be an overeducated secretary. Because you need a college degree to use Power Point.

Flash to the present: I'm 31, short, fat, good looking, too smart for my own good, which is tempered by me not applying myself and trying as hard as I should. Love manages to breeze through my life once or twice. Twice to be exact. More often though, it's bewildering dating/sexual behavior that makes its self at home. My friends are few, and that's on purpose. While I've been accused of being the life of the party once or twice, I generally keep a low profile. Love to party, love to stay home and putter around in my pj's even more.

I love my family, friends, men, and vanilla caramel brownie ice cream. Just like you, I try to always do the right thing. I try not to be so selfish and mean spirited but it doesn't always work out. I'm human. Just like you. So I pick up, move on, try not to do the same stupid thing twice. Ah, but that reminds me of a point in history where not only did I do it once, twice, even thrice, but four times. Remind me to tell you about "The Greg Chronicles". None of them end pretty, but people with war wounds always tell the most interesting stories.

Note to self: take a writing class.