Monday Ramble #32 Stop Looking At My Moms

Do you remember being a kid and meeting one of your friend’s Moms for the 1st time? If your friend’s last name was Brown, you would say, “Nice to meet you Mrs. Brown” and she would say, “Nice to meet you little whoever you are.”
And it was all good. But then there was a time when you would meet someone’s Mom and the convo would start out, “Nice to meet you Mrs. Brown” and she’ll scowl and say, “Brown is his/her father’s name, and I hate that bastard. My last name is Pearson.”

Or something like that. And she might even point out that she isn’t a ‘Mrs.’

But as a kid, what do you know? It’s not the kid’s fault. If she hated that guy so much, she didn’t have to give her seed his name. Maybe she didn’t know how it would turn out. She also didn’t know that she was going to have a kid with another dude. And when she did, she thought this guy was the one.

And now just like Doughboy and Ricky’s mom, (Boyz ’N’ The Hood) she has a favorite babyfather, a favorite kid, and she’s throwing herself subliminally at some guy that looks like Laurence Fishburne who lives on the block.

The closest thing I’ve had to offspring was a cat when I was a kid. I took care of the little feline, emptied his litter box, bought his cat food, gave him water and spoke to him about drugs and peer pressure in the community.

It worked out well and although he lived to be around 90 years old, I don’t think it readied me for a human pet. I mean a baby. Sorry about that. I’ve watched a lot of kids though. If you ever need someone to watch your kids, I’m one of the best.

Oh no not babysitting, I mean watch them, I don’t do diapers or vomit cleanup or anything but I’m an excellent watcher. I can look at them, stare at them, I am exceptional at that, especially from far away. You should see my skills.

I am related to some children, I’ve hung out with them, conversed about school and kindergarten drama, I’ve even read a children story or 2…with animated voices and all that. If I did have a seed, I don’t think I would ever be cool with letting the little bastard…sorry again, out of my sight. I don’t trust babysitters. I can imagine being a single parent and trying to date someone. I would be so leery letting a person in my life that didn’t help me create the youngster.

The other day I’m watching What Chilli Wants and every time she gets with a dude, she starts mentioning her son and dudes start to get shook. The guy that was trying to get some TV time, maybe a little bedroom action with the consolation prize of a relationship is now faced with the thought of an add water, instant family.

The kid has to like you, respect you, and not try and kill you. Then you have to worry about the other parent in the picture. Does that parent still come around, still have beat-rights, are they paying some bills? Do you care enough to go that far?

The toughest part about dealing with a single parent is putting yourself in the place of the kid. You are Lebron James, and Delonte West is lurking around trying to be cool with you so he can get in and maybe get out once he’s done. Go ahead and envision all those tattoos, and some weirdo breathing heavy on top of the woman that gave you life.

But you don’t think about that, you’d rather be Delonte playing the role of the predator and your mission is to invade the birthplace of the little homie. And once you’re there you have to stay, or else you hurt a bunch of folks. How do you escape the notion that there is a child that isn’t yours but is going to pretend you’re the new parent with the hopes that a newer baby doesn’t get more attention, that your love will mirror that of a blood relative and that your disciplinary actions never provoke the phrase. “I’m not your child!!! (followed by bitch or nucca) ”

So you have to make a decision and try not to let the extra pressure affect your thought process. The opposite spectrum is the kid that’s really feeling you and vice versa; then you’re like Jerry Maguire rolling with the Mom just because you bonded with the little youth.

There are limitless scenarios to this unsolvable equation:

-2 Baby Daddies, 1 with drug habits, the other makes drug deals.

-2 or more Baby Mamas, one likes you, the other says she likes you or they all like each other and call you a bitch that doesn’t know he still wants them.

-Disappearing Baby Daddy with intrusive family that keeps getting your name wrong.

-Cool Baby Mama that gets child support not ordered by the court system so he has to bring it to her house…at night.

-Baby Daddy that wants to get back in so he buys presents for everyone…including you.

-Baby Mama that posts subliminal hate on Twitter but if you say something about it, you’re a hater.

-Baby Daddy that posts “The Real Family” pic on Facebook that you’re not in at Chucke Cheese, even though you were at the party.

-Baby isn’t a baby and wants money to leave y’all alone on weekends and can go to the club with you.

-Mother-in-law that wishes you would go away and the original family can work it out because her marriage didn’t work so she’s pissed at you and won’t let your mother receive a Nana or Granny moniker because she’s not blood and you don’t like her but you’re glad that she’s not phony about her feelings…or something like that.

Like I said, the different complications and situations can become elaborate yet beautiful.

And when it gets to the point where the child has to get called into the room to hear the explanation why Mr. Jamal is going to be spending the night and checking homework…or why Ms. Sharon was yelling at Jesus in Daddy’s bedroom the other morning, it’s real.

There’s no answer, solution or knowledge I offer you here today, all I can do is speak on what I see.

“The best advice is keep moving slow/’cause honestly, you don’t know what the future holds/one day you’re dating model broads, groupie hoes/next day you’re watching Pokemon and Yu-Gi-Oh…” –The Milf Song.

Monday Ramble #30 “Fan”Tasy Sports

My team didn’t win the Super Bowl. Let me rephrase that, my team wasn’t in the Super Bowl.
Come to think about it, I don’t have a team at all. And I just came to that realization this morning. I don’t play fantasy sports, not because they aren’t cool but because I don’t have friends to explain how they work or to compete with. No! Don’t feel bad now and invite me into your league. I’ll forget that I’m playing and lose terribly and then you will have wasted your precious time.

And it’s not because I’m busy or anything, I’m just bad with doing anything daily that’s not eating or cleaning myself.

With that said, all these years of my life I’ve been rooting for the Giants, hoping North Carolina’s basketball team wins, blah blah, blah and for what?

Being a fan of a professional sports team gets you absolutely nowhere. The only outcome is continuous disappointment. If it’s your college alma mater or your kid’s soccer squad, I say go hard, but losing your lunch over some millionaires that don’t know you or need you is too much.

Sure I was happy the Lakers won 2 years in a row, but now I’m all worried they won’t win again. And you know who doesn’t care? The Lakers.

I don’t have stock options; I’m not related to anyone on the team, I’m not even from LA. And yet here I am, watching avidly, calling myself a fan. A fan of a team isn’t like being a fan of an artist.

If Chris Brown was to hit another woman, chances are he would lose fans, they would buy less records, stop coming to his shows, and hurt his career directly.

If Kobe allegedly rapes another woman, he’ll get backlash, a loud boo here and there…hell he may even lose an endorsement or 2 but people will still go to the games. His jersey would still sell, he wins no matter what.

And his paycheck won’t get altered. He gets a salary. I’m a fan of someone with a job. And he’s not even the only person responsible for the team winning. At least if I’m a Tiger Woods fan, it’s all on him if he loses. Team sports have a lot of folks to blame. The more people down with you, the more finger pointing.

Imagine being on a football team and you play defense and you’re on the sideline when some wide receiver drops an open pass that could’ve won the game. I would be pissed. How pissed can you be sitting in your living room watching though? Do I have the same right? It’s entertainment isn’t it? For the fans?

Don’t believe that, fans don’t get anything but fanship. No key chains, no mini-trophies. When we fill out census forms, they should ask you for your favorite teams. And when they win a title, you should receive a bonus check in the mail for $25 or something. Or a free ticket to next year’s game, or season 2 of random TV shows like Bones or House or Dexter even. The show should definitely have 1 word, and the 2nd season would make you have to get the 1st season. This would have nothing to do with your team but this is what should happen. Cross marketing.

What if you were a fan of the Bulls in the 90’s and had to wait like a decade and a half later for them to be contenders again? Just admit you liked Jordan and give up on them already. It’s ok. Or maybe you liked the Knicks back when Patrick Ewing and his coco bread kneepads were dominating.

In 2011 you can be a fan again. But that took entirely too long, Pat’s son is a college grad. People were Cavaliers fans just last year, now they’re sending death threats to Lebron and throwing out racial slurs.
If you think about it, people are upset at a dude for changing companies. I thought he was a punk too but now I see the error in my judgment.
If someone leaves Mr. Pibb to go work for Pepsi, can you really be upset? Some of you don’t even know who Mr. Pibb is.
They were burning his jersey in Cleveland. That’s like a Sprint worker burning my old bill because I switched to TMobile and I took my number. That is kind of disrespectful on my part but I don’t think it’s that serious to want to kill me.

Recently, my favorite old lady greeter at Wal-Mart left and I thought she re-retired, but I heard she went to Costco. I was like, “I don’t have a Costco card. I can’t root for you.” But I didn’t burn her old apron.

It crossed my mind but I didn’t. Look all I’m saying is continue to be a fan if you want to, go to games, spend $40 on food and drink while you’re there, argue with your friends about statistics, google those stats while you’re out on your smart(ass)phone, wear team colors, make songs, lose bets, and think nothing of it.

Or change teams every season when the playoffs roll around like I’m about to do, and when you’re at next year’s Super Bowl house party or this year’s March Madness shindig, be sure to go pee when the action’s happening and not during a quiet commercial. You’re welcome.