The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

So yesterday, at church service (me going to church is not the issue right now) to end out yesterday’s special program , the congregation sang the Negro National Anthem "Lift Every Voice And Sing"—naturally, this song is a big deal. Everyone’s singing the song and this elementary-aged girl next to me starts complaining about why are we singin’this “boring” song and why this “boring” song is so long and things of that nature. I look down and tell her, ‘Maikia, (this is her real name) we are sing the Negro national anthem.’ She then asks me what (not who) are Negros. Losing my patience, I tell her that we black people are also referred to as Negros. With all honesty in her face, she replied: “I thought that the word was niggers.” I took a deep breath and all I could do is correct her and tell her that we are not using that word.



I know what I told Maikia went in one ear and directly out the other, like what all of yesterday’s special program was about—motivating the youth to be more that what society has said for them to be. I came up with a theory: they (meaning a majority of the black children I see and deal with on a regular basis) are ig'nent (ignorant), know that they are ig'nent and chose to stay ig'nent. It might sound a little harsh, but I'm waiting for one of them to prove me wrong.

I’ve had to see you every Monday thru Friday for six months straight. I’m officially tired of you. When are you going to go back to work? It was supposed to me January was when you were supposed to get clearance to return to work. January 1st, I started doing back flips anticipating seeing you back in your scrubs and I’m still waiting.



You moved out for numerous ridiculous reasons and you still keep coming back here to cause your special havoc and then leave for the day to only return and repeat the vicious cycle.

I cook and/or buy food for the people that live in this house. You invite yourself to eat it because “you’re hungry” or “it smells good” or something like that. News flash: if you’re hungry, you eat one package of cookies; not the entire box.



When you get bored, you meddle into my affairs. I can’t leave a single piece of mail out on a table in the house that I live in because you’ll “find” it and want to “talk” about it. You’ll sit there and bitch at me more than my own mother does.

Then you’ll bring your ghetto masseuse, Edward, over to the house. You use him on a regular basis and you know that he’s so pathetic that he’ll never stick up for himself; then you still find something to complain about him: “He didn’t bathe this morning” or “he looks in my cleavage” or “he smiles too much and he’s missing teeth” “he’s cockeyed”. When will it end?

You get fed, you get your entertainment and you get your "physical therapy". I must run an adult day care, or something. In that case, where’s my money?!