The Tate Way

it’s worked so far

Please don’t ask me that again November 25, 2008

I have this thing about random guys asking me what my thanksgiving plans are. I don’t know you and you don’t know me.  I don’t care about what you’re doing for Thanksgiving.  I only care about what I’m doing; making someone’s pets take embarrassing pictures (well I can’t take credit for this):

So please observe the following rules:

Rule #1: If I wanted to talk to you while we were dancing I would have said something to you first.

Rule #2: Don’t ask me the same question 5 times.  I’m sorry you’re drunk and can’t remember what happened 2 seconds ago.

Rule #3: Stop telling me your mom’s birthday is the day after mine. It’s getting creepy.

Rule #4: If I don’t answer my cell phone after five calls, don’t leave me a message. Just STOP CALLING ME! I gave you my number so I could walk away without you insulting me. Not because I liked you.


Funny Post!

I know when you (yes, you!) come over to The Tate Way you’re looking for the funny. It’s the hallmark around these parts; it’s how I got started.  Well hold onto your pants, I’m about to give you some good old fashion “I was at a club and this idiot said this to me”.

On Saturday night I was out with my awesomely awesome bff TKG and her sister (and sister’s friends). We were having a great time listening to the DJ and dancing amongst ourselves.  Then it happened: a random dude in ugly shoes, an ill-fitting outfit, and a BAD hat starts circling around us.  Hello Mr. Ugly Shoes, we DO NOT WANT want what you’re selling. Do. Not. Want.

I managed to hide for awhile as he danced his way around the crowd and eyed innocent women.  Then he grabbed my hand. I looked at him a little confused (surely you don’t know me, why are you touching me) wondering what he was going to say. All he wanted was to dance, or so I thought.

As we are dancing I see him staring at me (note: I look at the ceiling or floor when I dance) every time I look in his general direction.  Here’s the conversation that ensues:

Me: “What?”

Him: “What??”

Me: “You were looking at me”

Him: “I wasn’t looking at you. You were looking at me.”

Me: “I looked up and you were looking at me (STUPID!).”

Him: “Oh, I wanted to say you look nice.”

Me: “Thanks.”

Dancing contiunes. Well I’m kind of just standing there doing the two step and looking at TKG; begging for help with my eyes. So what I’m doing isn’t technically dancing. Then I see a guy ask TKG to dance and she says no.

Him: “See a Black woman don’t even want to dance with a Black man.”

Me: “So you’re saying that she’s not dancing with him because he’s black.”

Him: “Yes. If we were in Atlanta or Miami that would have never had happened.”

Me: “So if this were Atlanta or Miami she wouldn’t have said no?”

Him: “That’s not the point.”

Me: “What do you mean that’s not the point? You said she wouldn’t dance with him becasue he was Black.”

(Then the madness really takes over)

Him: “Ya’ll California women think ya’ll special. Ya’ll ain’t special. Most of ya’ll can’t even cook a good meal.”

That’s the part where I walked away. Granted, I don’t cook that often, but dude don’t be stupid and insult me and expect me to keep dancing with you.  You remind me of K-Ci (see photo below) and not in a good way.


“The funny” is brought to you courtesy of: Some people are just THAT stupid & I’m doing YOU a favor.


The long and awful road (aka PMS) January 14, 2008

The other day I almost did something really rash. I was ready to throw ALL my secrets out on the table because it felt like the right thing to do. Then I realized what day it was and that I needed to pull back. My PMS had struck again.

I don’t know about you, but PMS to me is a crazy (outside my normal crazy) emotional time for me. Nothing more, nothing less. I have to be really careful about what I say and do, because at any moment I could be divulging some deep dark secret of mine. Or I could be watching ‘The Biggest Loser’ and burst out into tears. Not a normal reaction, I know, but it is a PMS reaction.

On my drive to pick up my son I was on the verge of tears for a reason really unclear to me. It was my PMS reaction to the day. Yesterday I almost said something I would have never been able to take back. Could have been a good thing but it could have been ALL bad. But after a long chain of text messages to a friend who was not hormonally challenged, I was able to put myself back in check.

So, if you happen to talk to or see me this week, please be kind. I’m in a PMS state of mind.


I like to call it MySpace shadowing… January 11, 2008

We’ve all done it, at one time or another. Some people will never admit to it. But, I’ll stand up straight, look all of you in the eyes, and say, “I MySpace stalk! You gotta problem with that?”

I actually do it way too often. I get bored very easily. And during certain parts of the year, I’m home a lot. So, what else is a gal to do? I have no crafts to keep my hands busy. I only post one or two blogs entries a day. I can’t talk on the phone all day. And, I’m new to this fab city I live in, so I can’t go harass a friend; that would require a drive to the Bay. So, it is my only (YES IT IS MY ONLY!) option.

But, isn’t the purpose of a social networking site to check out the people in your neighborhood. And your friend’s neighborhood? And your friend’s friend’s neighborhood? And your friend’s friend’s friend’s neighborhood? As long as you’re not following people around and becoming friends with all of their friends, all is well. Right?

I’ll admit, I HATE when I get random messages about angels falling from heaven from men pretending to be French (if you are going to say you are from France, have some pictures of France, not Detroit, posted on your page). But, I’ll take the good with the bad if it means I can peek into someone else’s life, without: a. seeming creepy, b. hiding in the bushes, or c. getting arrested.

Let’s face it, I’m too little and cute for prison. Plus I wouldn’t be able to listen to Chris Brown all day. Or look at his MySpace page.